

o > 






o 




0 


I ^ 


: 

> K > 

rl^ ^ O 

^ O N O ’ ^ 




'o , * - ,0 






O • 


0 ‘ G °." ® -» ■ O 




<6 ’ 

o 

VV 

■ f •' • «>>. .0 G 

-* 


• • 





4 ^ 

.% >.> 

3 k^^ 



V f ’ • ® 


V % 

. « > '^ A <r. 

-^y '^-6 

j-i , -i^ 


o s ^ A 


'P. 


^oK 


\0 ' 7 \ 

^ tt. 




0 


e t ^ 


■* '- 


<9 

A o o 






0 0 ® ♦ 'O *'^ - •■ ' • 


« ^>>. A 




?> 


<» '' • 0 -- O. 


<> 

' . .A ° 

A ^ 


'>>■ <6 *" 


* « 


. 4 .^ .-., ' it . 


• - 




^ < I 

o V 


\0 v \ '' 

^ <n 


0 


9 / -1 


s '/A '4- V o 

^ A^ *t(C\§RA'' '^n ♦ 





• 0 





o V 


^ ~~r ^ j I r.f^ T- 

'‘‘w'-v v' .'•”- e. 



t I 



^/^ s 


■V „ « O 

,'iy'' t 
N + 


V 


A <r^ ‘'o,;* O' 

c° '°"”' 
^ 0 ^ ; 

• J Q -/&?JvW £^ 

o -a? ^ 

^ o 

* o w o ’ , / 1 

' :mk\ :A%iA% ^■ 




•* ci* 

s' V O • h jG -o '*' ■' . , s ^ ^ 

«N ♦ -. ' 5 ^j. >. * .N ♦ 


» « 




b V 



V f C' 

.Wa » 


qV ^o»a^ ^ ^ 










'm. 


NS 58 , 


LOVELL’S m 


Jb5UED WEEKt^^^ 





50 crs. 

SERIES 


>L &U&&CA)*>T|0H 



^7 POSfO^^4C£,N£w/0i^ 
Ci.M M£f4, At AfiSTi 

yAU.7j^./S9&. 


"" • X //f/i /*lMl'\\\ \\X ^ 

,j^H2-HVworth5t^ 







The SOHMER PIANOS 
are used in the follow* 
ing Institutions. 

Convent of the Sacred 
Heart, Manhattau- 
ville, N. Y. 

N. Y. College of Music. 
Vogt’s Conservatory of 
Music. 

Arnold’s Conservatory 
of Music, Brooklyn. 
Philadelphia Conser- 
vatory of Music. 

Villa de Sales Convent, 
Long Island. 

N. Y. Normal Conser- 
vatory of Music. 

Villa Maria Convent, 
Montreal. 

Vassal* College, Pough- 
keepsie. 

And most all the lead- 
ing first-class theatres 
in NEW YORK and 
BROOKLYN. 


THE WONDij 
BIJOU GRi 

(lately patent 
SOHMER & C 
Smallest Grarl 
manufactured, 
only 5 ft. 6 i 
created a se:t 
among musicia 
artists. I'he 
loving public v 
it in their inU 
call at the war 
of SOHMER 
and examine t 
ions styles of ( 
Uprights, and( 
Pianos. The | 
and beautiful « 
and improvem 
Orands and U;: 
Pianos deserv( 
ial attention. 


Ai’c at present the Most Popular and Preferred hy the Leading At 

Nos. 149 TO 155 EAST 14th STREET, NEW YORH 


LYDIA E. PINKHAM’S 


VEGETABLE COMPOUN 



IS A POSITIVE CURE 


For all those painful Complaints 
Weaknesses so common to our bi 


female population. 

It will cure entirely the worst form of T 
Complaints, all Ovarian troubles, Inflamn 
Ulceration, Falling and Displacements (; 
\/omb and the consequent Spinal Weakne« 
Is particularly adapted to the Change of Lif« 
It will dissolve and expel Tumors frd 
uterus in an early stage of development. T\ 
dency to cancerous humors there is checkd 
speedily by its use. It removes faintness, 
Icncy, destroys all craving for stimulanti 
relieves weakness of the stomach. It cures 
tng. Headaches, Nervous Prostration, Genet 
bility, Sleeplessness, Depression, and Indigei 
That feeling of bearing down, causing 
weight and backache, is always permanentlj 
by its use. 

It will at all times and under all clrcums 
act in harmony with the laws that gove 
female system. For the cure of Kidney Com 
of either sex, this Compound is unsurpassed 


Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Componud is prepared at Lynn, Mass. Price 
Six bottles for $5.00. Sent by mail in the form of Pills, also In the form of Lozenges, on 
of price, $1.00 per box, for either. Send for pamphlet. All letters of inquiry promii 
Bwered. Address as above. 




MISADVENTURE. 


BY SPECIAL akrangemi:nt with the authors 


2 . 


3. 


5. 


6 . 


8 . 

9. 


10 . 


11 . 


12 . 

13. 


14. 


15. 

1C. 


Lovell’s International Series of Modern Novels. 




No. 

1 . 




By 


30 


.50 


30 


.50 


50 


50 


Miss Eton op Eton Court. 

Katharine S. Macquoid. 

Hartas Marturin. By H. F. 

Lester. .... 

Tales of To-Day. By Geo. 

R. Sims. 

English Life Seen through Yan 
KEE Eyes. By T. C. Crawford. 

Penny Lancaster, Farmer. By 
Mrs. Bellamy. . 

Under False Pretences. By 
Adeline Sergeant. 

In Exchange for a Soul. By 
Mary Linskill. 

Guilderoy. By Ouida. 

St. Cuthbert’s Tower. By 
Floreuce Warden. 

Elizabeth Morley. By Katharine 

S. Macquoid. . . . .30 

Divorce ; or Faithful and 
Unfaithful. By Miss Lee. 

Long Odds. By Hawley Smart. 

On Circumstantial Evidence. 

By Florence Marryat. 

Miss Kate ; or Confessions of 
A Caretaker. By Rita. 

A Vagabond Lover. By Rita. 

The Search for Basil Lyndhurst. 


.30 

.30 


.30 


.50 

.30 


.30 


.30 

.20 


17. 


By Mona 


18. 

19. 


..50 


20 . 


30 


21 . 


22 . 

23. 


24. 


25. 


The Wing of Azrael. 

Caird. . . . .31 

The Fog Princes. By F.Warden. .30 

JOHN Herring. By S. Baring 
Gould. 

The Fatal Phryne. By F. C. 
Phillips and C. J. Wills. 

Harvest. By John Strange 
Winter. 

Mehalah. By S. Baring Gould. 

A Troublesome Girl. The 
Duchess. 

Derrick Vaughan, Novelist. 

By Edna Lyall. 

Sophy Carmine. By John Strange 


.80 

.50 


.30 


.30 


26. 


By 


27. 


28. 


29. 


30. 


31. 


Winter. 

The Luck of the House. 

Adeline Sergeant. 

The Pennycomequicks. By S. 
Baring Gould. 

Jezebel’s Friends. By Dora 
Russell. 

COMEDY OF A COUNTRY HOUSE. 

By Julian Sturgis. 

The Piccadilly Puzzle. By 
Fergus Hume. 

That Other Woman. By Annie 
Thomas. 


.30 


.30 


..50 


.30 


.80 


.30 


.30 


By Rosa Nouchette Carey . .30 

RE^CE^N'T ISSUES. 

The Curse of Carne’s Hold. By G. A. Henty. 

Uncle Piper of Piper’s Hill. By Tasma. 

A Life Sentence. By Adeline Sergeant. 

Kit Wyndham. By Fi-ank Barrett. 

The Tree of Knowledge. By G. M. Robins. 

Roland Oliver. By Justin McCarthy. 

Sheba. By Rita. 

Sylvia Arden. By Oswald Crawfurd. 

Young Mr. Ainslie’s Courtship. By F. C. Phillips. 

The Haute Noblesse. By Geo. Manville Fenn. 

Mount Eden. By Florence Marryat. 

Buttons. By John Strange Winter. 

Nurse Revel’s Mistake. By Florence Warden. 

Arminell. By S. Baring Gould 

The Lament of Dives. By Walter Besant. 

Mrs. Bob. By John Strange Winter. 

Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed, By Chas. Gibbon. .30 
The Mynns Mystery. By Geo. Manville Fenn. . . .30 

other books by well-known authors are In course of preparation, and will be 
published at regular intervals. 

FRANK F. LvOVELL & COMPANY, 

142 & 144 WORTH STREET, NEW YORK. 


No. 

32. 

33. 

34. 

35. 

36. 

37. 

38. 

39. 

40. 

41. 

42. 

43. 

44. 

45. 

46. 

47. 

48. 

49. 


.30 

.30 

.30 

.30 

.30 

.30 

.30 

.30 

.30 

.30 

.30 

.30 

.30 

.50 

.30 

.30 


MISADVENTURE 


A NOVEL. 


BY 

W.^'E: %pRRIS, 

Authorof^^No New Thing^'^ My Friend Jim'' etc.^etc. 


copyright- 

FEB 1 1B90 ' 


NEW YORK : 

FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY, 
142 AND 144 Worth Street. 




yzz 

i • ' I i " 





COPTRIGHT, 1890 , 

BT* 

JOHN W. LOVELL 


MISADVENTURE 


CHAPTER I. 

MR. BLIGH. 

“ It is all very well,” observed Mr. Bligh, to say I am 
not responsible ; and perhaps in a certain sense I am not. 
Looking back upon the past, I suppose I may claim to 
have done as much for Morton as most fathers do for their 
sons. I sent him to Eton and Oxford ; I have always 
made him a handsome allowance ; I have paid his debts 
for him several times with more or less of cheerfulness ; I 
even remember that, when he was a boy, I whipped him 
twice — the second time rather severely — for acts of wanton 
cruelty to animals. Moreover, he has had the full benefit 
of my experience of life and my large philosophy, while 
you, my dear Lowndes, have, I know, preached your very 
best sermons, both doctrinal and practical, at him. If, 
after all this, he has chosen to go to the deuce, the con- 
sequences should be upon his own head, you think. But 
then comes the question of how far any of us are answer- 
able for our proclivities, or ought to be punished for the 
natural results of them.” 

The speaker was a man whom most people would have 
pronounced at first sight to be nearer seventy than sixty, 
because his hair and his short beard were as white as snow, 
and because the clear, pale skin of his face was furrowed 
by such deep lines ; but closer inspection conveyed the 
idea that these were lines of suffering, and that he was 
probably younger than he looked. As a matter of fact, he 
had at this time only just turned his fifty-first year. He 
was reclining, as he did all daylong, in a wheeled chair 
close to a bay-window, whence he could survey some part 
of the broad lands which he owned but could not tread. 


4 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


Long periods of neuralgic or rheumatic pain (so called by 
the ddctors, who could find neither a cause nor a cure for 
them) had culminated at length in what all the doctors 
were agreed in describing as creeping paralysis, and had 
changed into a frail worn-out wreck of humanity one whom 
many middle-aged people could remember as a keen 
sportsman, a first-rate judge of a horse, and a very popular 
frequenter of London drawing-rooms. Even now he had ‘ 
not lost all trace of the .good looks for which he had once 
been famous, nor had disease, trouble and disappointment 
robbed his smile of its good-humored kindliness. 

His friend, Mr. Lowndes, the Rector of Abbotsport, was 
his senior by some half-dozen years or so, and looked 
capable of outliving him by a quarter of a century at least. 
Tall, broad-shouldered and ruddy, his thick black hair and 
whiskers being only here and there streaked with grey, 
Mr. Lowndes, had it not been for the clerical garb that he 
wore, would have had a good deal more of the appearance 
of a country squire than the crippled invalid whom he sat 
facing, with a hand on each knee. He said : 

“ Now, Bligh, you are going to mount one of your fan- 
tastic liobbies. You want to excuse and explain everything 
upon some fanciful theory of inherited tendency, which 
can’t hold water for a single moment. Added to which, 
you are paying a poor comi^liment to your forefathers by 
assuming tJiat Morton inherited his tendencies from them. 
He certainly didn’t get them from you.” 

“ I should be sorry to be uncomplimentary to my fore- 
fathers,” said Mr. Bligh, with a smile, but for anything I 
know to the contrary, there may have been some scoun- 
drels amongst them. And I don’t see anything fantastic 
or fanciful in stating an undeniable fact. You haven’t bred 
as many horses as 1 have, still you are not ignorant about 
the subject, and I believe you have bred dogs. You know 
as well as I do what an important part hereditary tendency 
plays in that matter, and how often it crops up in an 
individual after lying dormant for generations.” 

“ We’re not talking of horses and dogs,” returned Mr. 
Lowndes, “ we’re talking of a human being, with a soul 
and a conscience and a free will. We all of us have our 
besetting sins, I suppos| — though I’m sure I don’t know 
what yours can be — but our business is to conquer them, 
and if we fail we deserve to suffer for our cowardice. Sup- 


MISAD VENTURE, 


S 


pose I have inherited a tendency to some disease — gout, 
for instance — am«I to shrug my shoulders and give in, 
instead of taking measures to counteract it ? ” 

“Judging by my own experience, I should be inclined to 
back the disease,” said the other. “And then you must 
allow that we don’t all start at even weights.” 

“ Oh, well,” said the rector, a little impatiently — for he 
was vexed with himself for having made use of an illustra- 
tion which sounded somewhat unfeeling under the circum- 
stances — “ we needn’t argue the point, because I am sure 
that we don’t really differ. Excuses, no doubt, can be 
made for everybody, and let us hope that eventually they 
will be made. Meanwhile, with our imperfect knowledge 
of things, we are obliged to judge by what is apparent ; 
and as for Morton — well, I will only say, as I said before, 
that I wish you wouldn’t have him down here. He has 
refused scores of times when you have asked him ; why 
should you accept his proposal now when you are ill, and 
when the sight of him is quite enough to make you 
worse ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t think the sight of him will produce that 
effect upon me,” said Mr. Bligh, quietly. 

“ I do, then ; I have known you too long, my dear 
Bligh, to be taken in by your affectation of stoicism. In 
all my life I have never met a man who bore pain better or 
who felt it more. Morton will give you pain every time 
he opens his lips — you know he will. What’s more, he will 
try to give you pain.” 

“ Perhaps not. I imagine his object in paying us this 
visit is quite the reverse of that.” 

“ What is his object ? ” inquired the rector, who, how- 
ever, could have answered his own question easily 
enough. 

Mr. Bligh laughed. “ After all,” he said, “ it is only 
what you and I should dq under similar circumstances. 
Given a dying father, who has absolute control over the 
disposal of his property, shouldn’t we think it our duty to 
seek him out and express to him a sincere regret for any 
little differences which might have arisen between us and 
him ? ” 

“ No,” answered the rector, stoutly \ “ neither you nor I 
would stoop to such meanness^ Besides, you are not 
dying.” 


6 


M/SAD VENTURE. 


So the doctors are kind enough to assure me. They 
say that I may live for a great many more years ; but they 
think it will be a very strange thing if I do. Doctors, of 
course, can’t tell the real truth, but there is no reason 
that I know of why patients shouldn’t, when they happen 
to be aware of it. The real truth is always bracing and 
invigorating, though I admit that it often looks rather ugly 
from a distance ; and the truth, I take it, is that Morton is 
coming because he has heard that his cousin Archie is here, 
and because that has very naturally alarmed him.” 

Mr. Lowndes had a pair of round, projecting, brown 
eyes, which now became rounder and projected themselves 
somewhat more prominently than usual. “ Do you mean 

to say,” he began, “ that you really propose ” 

‘‘ Oh, no, I don’t think it would be right or wise, or in 
any way desirable. All the same I wish Archie were my 
son. Even though he is younger than Morton, I might 
perhaps be justified in making an elder son of him in this 
case ; but nephews, I suppose, must be regarded as out of 
the question. What do you think of him } ” 

“ I think he is a fine, manly young fellow ; I always did 
think so, and soldiering has improved him immensely. 
Still, as you say, he is only your nephew. I should have 
thought — will you allow me to speak my mind plainly to 
you, Bligh ? ” 

“ Haven’t I just told you that the unvarnished truth is 
full of fascination for me ? ” 

“Well, then, I should have thought that if you con- 
sidered your son unworthy to succeed you — which he most 
undoubtedly is — you could have left this place to your 
daughter. I know you can provide for her amply without 
doing that, and I know that the management of a large 
property is a heavy burden to place on the shoulders of a 
young girl. Still, when one has to face two evils one 
can but choose the smaller ; and although Cicely is inex- 
perienced, and a little headstrong at times, her heart is in 
the right place. And then she will marry. Surely it would 
be better for us all to have decent Christian people at the 
Priory than an avowed atheist.” 

“ Is Morton an avowed atheist ? ” 

“ If he isn’t he ought to be. Holding the views that he 
does, and living the life that he lives, he has no business 
to call himself anything else.” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


7 

“ Ah, I think I remember that he once got rather the 
better of you in a theological discussion.” 

“ No, he didn’t,” returned the rector, reddening slightly. 
‘‘ he didn’t get the better of me at all. Of course he asked 
me questions which I couldn’t answer ; any Sunday School 
child could do that — and indeed they often do. The times 
that I have been bothered with that tiresome old difficulty 
about the rainbow and its appearance in waterfalls and 
fountains ! Why, only last week a wretched little whipper- 
snapper wanted me to explain how it was that Balaam 
showed so little surprise when his ass entered into con- 
versation with him.” 

“ I have always felt a good deal of curiosity upon that 
point myself,” observed Mr. Bligh. “ What did you 
say ? ” 

“ I said that Balaam was a prophet, that he was accus- 
tomed to supernatural manifestations, and that an incident 
of that kind wouldn’t be at all likely to astonish him. 
Then, if you please, my young gentleman wanted to know 
whether the mouth and tongue of an ordinary donkey were 
so formed that it would be possible for it to produce 
sounds resembling articulate speech. He didn’t put it in 
those words, but that was tlie gist of his inquiries. Now 
I only mention this to show you how easy it is for a mere 
child to throw doubts upon the truth of the Scripture 
narrative.” 

“ I quite see that it is very easy indeed,” replied Mr. 
Bligh, gravely ; “ but we are wandering away from our 
rival candidates. Not that Archie is a conscious can- 
didate — at least I hope he isn’t.” 

‘‘ I am perfectly sure that no such notion has ever 
entered his head,” cried the rector, warmly. 

“ There is no occasion to be so sure as all that ; such a 
notion might have entered his head without disgracing 
either it or his heart. I only meant to say that I hoped 
for his sake that he didn’t cherish expectations which are 
so very unlikely to be fulfilled. 

There was a pause of a few moments, after which Mr. 
Bligh resumed: “It will be rather amusing to watch 
them.” 

“ To watch whom ? ” asked the rector. 

“ Archie and Morton. , Of course they will fight ; 
Morton will take good care of that. But Morton never 


8 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


loses his temper, whereas Archie is decidedly peppery. I 
should say that Archie would get the worst of it.’' 

“ I don’t see what there will be amusing in that,” 
grunted Mr. Lowndes, who was a very straightforward, 
matter-of-fact sort of person, and did not sympathize with 
all his friend’s moods. wish you wouldn’t say such 
things, Bligh. They sound — not to me, because I know 
you — but to other people they might sound a little bit 
malicious.” 

“ Cripples are always malicious,” said Mr. Bligh ; “ they 
can’t help it. So long as one lives one is bound to get 
some sort of fun out of existence ; and what sort of fun is 
there within the reach of a man who has lost the use of 
his legs, except studying his fellow-creatures and laughing 
in his sleeve at them ? I lie here on my back from morn- 
ing to night and watch you — Cicely and Archie and the 
servants, and the people who come to call, and your 
reverend and respected self. You have no idea how funny 
you all are.” 

“ Well, I’m glad that I'm not the only subject of ridicule 
at all events,” observed Mr. Lowndes, with a somewhat 
dissatisfied look. “ What makes us so funny, if I may 
ask?” 

“You would have to break your back before you could 
understand ; and that perhaps is rather too long a price 
to pay for the privilege. I’m completely out of it, don't 
you see ; I’m still alive, though I'm as good — or as bad — 
as dead ; and that gives me a fine sense of the triviality of 
everything that excites the rest of you. What does it all 
matter ? In quite a short time the whole generation of us 
will be wiped out and clean forgotten; isn't it a little 
comical that we should make so much ado about noth- 
ing?'' 

This (as possibly it may have been intended to do) drew 
from the rector an eloquent vindication of the seriousness 
of life and the far-reaching consequences of every 
individual act. Furthermore, he thought fit to wind up 
with a final application of his remarks. “ You have no 
right to say that you are ‘ out of it,’ Bligh ; on the con- 
trary, very great power for good or for evil remains in 
your hands. The temporal, and for aught I know the 
eternal welfare of many people depends upon you, 
and you can’t joke yourself free from your responsibilities. 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


9 


I think you ought to bear that in mind and consider it 
carefully before you decide to nominate a§ your successor 
a man who will — who will 

Who will play the deuce generally/’ suggested Mr. 
Bligh. “ Well, I’ll consider it — and him too. He seems 
to have challenged consideration, so that he can’t com- 
plain. Nevertheless, I doubt whether any conceivable 
arrangement that I could make would be wholly satis- 
factory.” 

The rector sighed and went sorrowfully away. He was 
very much afraid that his old friend’s days were num- 
bered ; he was pretty sure that his old friend would not 
set established custom aside in making his will, and he 
was quite convinced that infinite harm might be done in 
the parish of Abbotsport by such a squire as Morton Bligh 
would be. 

It’s all very unfortunate/’ he muttered to himself as 
he mounted his brown cob' — “ very unfortunate indeed ! ” 

When he had ambled down the long, gently sloping 
approach, bordered on either side by rhododendrons which 
were one of the chief glories of the Priory, and when he 
had passed through an iron gate, which separated lawns, 
shrubberies and flower-beds from the park, he turned his 
horse off the road and cantered across the grass,' until he 
reached a point from which he could look down upon the 
slate roofs of Abbotsport and the blue veil of smoke 
which hung motionless over them on that still afternoon 
of early spring. The little fishing village, overhung by 
lofty chalk cliffs 'and protected both from easterly and 
from westerly gales by sheltering promontories, had been 
made additionally safe and snug by a breakwater, con- 
structed some years back at the expense of Mr. Bligh. 
The same munificent benefactor had supplied the 
inhabitants with the solid school-house, which Mr. Lowndes 
could descry, and had carried out a great many other 
works of public utility during his reign. There had always 
been Blighs at the Priory, and they had always owned the 
whole of Abbotsport ; but they had been far less power- 
ful, because far less wealthy, than the present holder of 
the estate, who, while still a young man, had inherited a 
large fortune from his mother’s family. That he had spent 
his income wisely and well could not be denied. He 
had found Abbotsport poverty-stricken, dirty and over- 


lO 


MISADVENTURE. 


populated, and by dint of judicious expenditure, combined 
with some exercise of authority, which had been at first 
resented, but subsequently acquiesced in (because 
improved circumstances always promote a spirit of 
toleration), he had converted the community over which he 
ruled into a prosperous and contented one. He had been 
a benevolent despot, but like other benevolent despots he 
labored under the disadvantage of being mortal ; so that 
there could be no certainty of the work which he had 
inaugurated being carried on. 

“ Besides, I am not sure that he hasn’t sapped their 
independence,” mused the rector, as he gazed down on the 
little fleet of fishing smacks, which were stealing in before 
a very light, southerly breeze. They have got too much 
into the habit of looking to the Priory for help the moment 
that anything goes wrong, and it’s precious little help they 
are likely to get from Morton Bligh. Cicely would take 
care that their wants were supplied, at any rate, though no 
doubt she would be injudicious, and she has inherited her 
father’s disinclination to be guided by advice. Still she 
would be sure to marry before long ; and if she had a 
husband who was a decent fellow ” — Mr. Lowndes paused 
for a rnoment in his meditation and tapped his boot 
pensively with the handle of his riding-whip. “ Now, if 
Cicely would marry her cousin,” he resumed presently, 
“and I strongly suspect that her cousin wouldn’t object to 
the arrangement — Good gracious, Archie, how you made 
me jump ! You ought to know better than to play such 
tricks upon an old man whose reins are hanging loose. 
It’s lucky that nothing ever startles the cob.’' 

The young man, who had playfully thrown a fir-cone at 
the rector’s broad back, laughed and said : “ The cob’s 
ears are quicker than yours, Mr. Lowndes ; he knew I was 
behind you two or three minutes ago.” 

This young man, who was tall, spare and broad- 
shouldered, and had a slight, fair moustache, with an up- 
ward twist to it, bore the marks of his profession as plainly 
as if he had been dressed in full cavalry uniform. Without 
being exactly good-looking, he possessed the beauty which 
belongs to youth and physical vigor, and he had a pleasant, 
smart, sunburnt appearance. Also his blue eyes seemed 
to belong to an honest mortal. “ What were you dream- 
ing about } ” he asked. “ About the future fate of that 
intemperate flock of yours ? ” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


II 


“ Well, yes,” answered the rector : “ I was thinking 
about their future, poor fellows ! Not that they are so 
very intemperate, except now and then, when they have 
had a great catch of fish, and even at such times they are 
a good deal better than they used to be. Nevertheless, I 
sometimes feel anxious about them. I’ve just seen your 
uncle, and he tells me that Morton is expected at the 
Priory this evening.” 

“Yes, I believe so; it’s rather a bore. I don’t know 
much about him, but I’ve always understood that he is an 
awful blackguard.” 

“ He isn’t so much that — at least not in the way that 
you probably mean. There’s always hope for the sort of 
man whom you would call an awful blackguard.” 

“ Oh ! And isn’t there any hope for Morton ? ” 

The rector shook his head. “ I’ll tell you what Morton 
is,” said he ; “ he’s a thoroughly bad-hearted fellow. You 
may have heard stories about him. I don’t want to enter 
upon them, and indeed they are stories of a sort which you 
young fellows don’t generally mention before parsons. It 
would be very wrong of me and quite against my duty and 
my conscience to make light of sin of any kind ; yet there 
is a difference, you know. A man may be chivalrous in 
spite of his wickedness. It isn’t very long since Sir James 
Hannen addressed Morton Bligh from the Bench in words 
which — which, upon my honor, I think I would rather have 
been hanged than have heard addressed to me. But I 
don’t believe he cared.” 

“ Everybody said he behaved thundering badly,” 
observed the young man. “ I was in India at the time, 
you know ; so I only heard about it through the news- 
papers. Was that why Uncle Wilfrid quarreled with 
him ? ” 

“Oh, there wasn’t any quarrel. Your uncle never 
quarrels ; and if he had meant to wash his hands of 
Morton, as most fathers would have done, he might have 
found ample excuse for that years ago. I don’t mind telling 
you that that is what I should have done. As a general 
principle, I am opposed to placing women in positions of 
authority, but supposing I had to choose between Cicely 
and Morton my choice would be very soon made.” 

“ Only Cicely will marry some day, I suppose.” 

“Yes; but when she does, her husband won’t have 


12 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


things all his own way. That fortunate fellow — ^because 
he will be a very fortunate fellow — may as well make up 
his mind to accept the part of a prince-consort.” 

The rector looked rather hard at his companion, who 
gazed imperturbably out to sea, and then he added, with 
an abrupt chuckle : “ Put that in your pipe and smoke 
it, young man.” 


CHAPTER II. 

MISS BLIGH. 

The young lady who Mr. Lowndes had quite accurately 
described as possessing a strong will of her own was, at 
the time when she was being thus criticized, discharging 
one of the duties incident to her station in life, by visiting 
the poor. There were always plenty of poor people in the 
village of Abbotsport, which, being situated at a distance 
of three miles (and mostly up-hill miles) from the nearest 
railway station, could not dispose of its fish with the ease 
and profit enjoyed by some of its neighbors on the south 
coast. However, they were none of them destitute, nor 
in any danger of becoming so, because they had Miss Cicely 
Bligh, as well as her father, to look after them. Whenever 
Miss Cicely walked down to the village (and that was 
three or four times a week on an average) she carried on 
her arm a basket, which was heavy on leaving the Priory 
and light on its return. For this reason she was always a 
welcome visitor ; and if her instructions and rebukes were 
rather more peremptory than some folks thought becoming 
in one so young, yet they were magnanimous enough to 
pardon her in consideration of her pretty face and her kind 
heart, and smiled with good-humored toleration, when her 
back was turned, at her mania for cleanliness, her determi- 
nation that everybody should go to church once a week, 
and all her other little fads and fancies. In reality, the 
housewives of Abbotsport were mortally afraid of her, 
though they would have died rather than admit such a 
thing. 

It mattered very little to Cicely whether they admitted 
or denied a circumstance of which she was fully aware. 


MIS AD V£ JIT DDE, 




She knew that she could always carry her point, whatever 
it might be, and the only thing she regretted was that 
people should ever waste time by arguing with her, when 
it would have been so much more simple and sensible to 
give in at once. To be sure she shared the inestimable 
boon, with which Abbotsport at large was blessed, of 
being seldom pressed for time. On this particular after- 
noon she . had gone her rounds and had administered her 
charities, together with a few necessary scoldings, as usual, 
and now she thought she would stroll down to the harbor 
and see the trawlers come in. So she made her way along 
the steep streets to the water side — a natty, well-propor- 
tioned, and very upright little figure, with her long sable 
boa flung back over her shoulders and her empty basket 
swinging. 

Cicely Bligh had the family features, which were such 
as the family had no reason to complain of. Her nose 
was slightly aquiline ; but it was such a diminutive speci- 
men of that class that nobody with the slightest sense of 
the fitness of terms would have dared to call it a hook. 
Her upper lip, which was very short, had an outward curve ; 
the lower one was somewhat full ; her chin was perfectly 
rounded without being too prominent ; her dark eyebrows 
were straight, and from beneath them there looked forth a 
pair of large, steadfast, grey eyes, for the discomfiture of 
evil-doers and the sad undoings of susceptible young men. 
She was, beyond all reach of rivalry, the beauty of the 
county ; and how could she help knowing it when she had 
been told as much such a number of times ? She did not, 
however, value herself so much upon her good looks — 
which were hers by clear right of inheritance, and therefore 
not worth boasting about — as upon her strict integrity of 
purpose, and her truly remarkable accuracy of judgment. 
To these fine qualities she flattered herself that her claim 
was undisputed ; and so, in truth, it was, because nobody 
wanted to dispute it with her. Brom her father — the only 
human being to whom she owed or owned allegiance — she 
met with little or no opposition, her views and tastes being 
fortunately very much the same as his own. Illness had 
of late so incapacitated him that he had been compelled 
to manage a great part of his affairs vicariously, and from 
being his delegate his daughter had insensibly become his 
substitute. As for her aunt. Miss Skipwith, who had been 


14 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


asked to stay a few weeks at the Priory soon after Mrs. 
Bligh’s death and who had remained there for fifteen years, 
Cicely had never been told to regard that lady as placed 
in authority over her, and had never dreamt of doin^ so. 
Thus she was about as independent as a young woman 
can be ; and perhaps rather more so than it is good for 
any young woman to be, seeing that the absolute equality 
of the sexes has not yet been admitted, even in the most 
progressive countries. 

The trawlers, of which Abbotsport boasted but four, 
had already entered the harbor when she reached it, and 
a knot of more or less interested persons had collected on 
the pier, to watch them discharge their load of fish and to 
help in carting it away. This was a somewhat lengthy 
operation — because, as has been mentioned, Abbotsport 
disdained hurry— but Cicely waited patiently until it was 
almost completed, when she caught sight of a weather- 
beaten, grey-bearded man, who touched the brim of his 
sou’-wester to her with a slightly deprecating air. 

^‘Coppard,” said she, fixing her eyes upon him severely, 
“ I am surprised to see you going out with the trawlers 
among these boys. I should have thought you might 
have found some better employment than that.” 

“ You’re right there, Miss,” answered the man, “as you 
mostly are. Come to my time o’ life, better employment 
I ought to have, and that’s Gospel truth. But food must 
be purvided for the young ’uns some way or other, and 
times is terrible bad just now.” 

“Times are bad with you, you mean,” interrupted 
Cicely, “ and no wonder ! I didn’t see you at church on 
Sunday, Coppard.” 

“You did not. Miss,” replied Mr. Coppard, with a great 
show of straightforward candor. “ You did not see me, 
for the reason that I were not there. I were very poorly 
o’ Sunday and compelled for to keep my bed.” 

“You couldn’t expect to be anything else after having 
been disgracefully intoxicated all Saturday.” 

“ What ? — me. Miss ? ” cried Mr. Coppard in extreme 
asionishment. “Me disgracefully intox — well I never! 
Who could ha’ been and told you such a thing as that 
about me in my habsence ? ’ 

“The same person who told me that you had sold your 
share in the Rover and spent all the money. It icaliy is 
too bad, Coppard.” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


15 


“So ’tis, Miss; and a great refreshment it has been to 
me to get two nights at sea beyond reach o’ that there 
woman’s tongue. ‘ Spent all the money,’ says she ! And 
her with a new gownd to her back — as you might ha’ 
noticed of Sunday, Miss, and did notice, I make no doubt. 
But she’s well known far and wide for what she is, and 
there ain’t a six-year old child in Abbotsport as pays any 
manner o’ heed to her talk.” 

“When I have seen that new gown I shall believe that 
poor Mrs. Coppard got it from you,” observed Miss Bligh, 
placidly. “ I am afraid it is useless to remonstrate with 
you, and certainly it is quite useless to try and help you. 
I am very sorry now that I asked my father to buy a 
share in the Rover for you.” 

“ Now, don’t ’ee say that. Miss. Squire he hacted for 
the best — likewise yourself ; but as for getting a living out 
of part share in a hopen boat, faint to be thought of. Miss ; 
and what I do I do for the sake of my family, as should 
be more grateful to me.” 

“ I really think there is something in that. Miss Bligh,” 
chimed in a gentle and deferential voice from the back- 
ground. “A man must catch a great many dabs and 
congers before he can expect to get a fair day’s wages for 
a fair day’s work.” 

Cicely whisked round sharply, and was thus brought 
face to face with a young man in a blue serge suit, who 
took off his cap to her. He was a young man of some- 
thing under middle height, square-built, clean-shaven and 
fresh complexioned. He was as evidently a sailor as 
Archie Bligh was a soldier, and, if a little less smart- 
looking than that gentleman, was certainly handsomer, his 
features being quite classic in their regularity, and his big 
brown eyes almost as expressive as a dog’s. Cicely held 
out her hand to him with a little air of condescension and 
patronage. “ Oh, how do you do, Bobby ? ” said she. 
“ Have you been out with the trawlers ? ” 

“ That he has. Miss,” answered Coppard, who perhaps 
was not unwilling to bring about a change of subject ; 
“and though I don’t care to flatter no one, I will say 
there’s not a many ofiflcers in Her Majesty’s Navy as can 
sail a boat like Captain Dare.” 

“ Not Captam Dare, surely,” said Cicely. “ I know 
you are no longer a midshipman, Bobby, but I didn’t 
know you had jumped up quite so high as that.” 


i6 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


“Sub-lieutenant,” answered the individual entitled to 
that rank, modestly. Then he added, in an apologetic 
tone, “ I can’t be so near blue water without wanting to 
be upon it ; so as those fellows offered to take me trawling 
with them, I thought I would go and see what it was like. 
We’ve had good luck and fine weather, I am glad to say ; 
but it must be a hard life in the winter-time.” 

Bobby Dare was one of the many sons of Sir George 
Dare, who shared with Mr. Bligh the pre-eminence in the 
southern county where the properties of both of them 
were situated. Cicely had known Bobby all her life, and 
was well aware that he had humbly adored her from his 
infancy. She said : “ I don’t think I should much care to 
spend a night on board a trawler. How did you manage 
about washing and dressing in the morning ? ” 

“ Well, I jumped overboard and had a swim,” said the 
young man. “ Do I look very grubby ? ” 

Cicely took a calm and deliberate survey of him from 
head to foot. “ Not more so than might have been 
expected,” she replied, at length. “ And so Coppard has 
been talking you over ? I dare say he would find it easy 
enough to do that.” 

The young sailor laughed, pushed his cap to the back of 
his head and glanced over his shoulder. Perceiving that 
Coppard had judiciously effected a movement of retreat 
he said: “I confess that I have a sneaking affection for 
that old rascal. I suppose he gets drunk now and then, 
like the rest of them, and I know he is an arrant poacher ; 
but for all that he’s a fine seaman. So are most of these 
fellows, for that matter. Oh, dear ! what a pity it is that 
press-gangs have been done away with ! ” 

“ If you could kidnap our fishermen they would be very 
much thrown away in the navy, I think,” Cicely declared. 
“ What is the use of fine seamanship on board one of those 
hideous iron hulks that you call men-of-war? Besides, 
you never have any fighting to do.” 

“ Perhaps we shall, though, one of these days,” returned 
Mr. Dare, hopefully. “ Even as it is, we often have to 
help the soldiers out ashore.” 

“ In skirmishes with savages, you mean ? But isn’t that 
rather poor fun ? You see, you are quite certain of being 
able to beat them, with the weapons that you have. If I 
were a man I would much rather be in the cavalry, like 
Archie,” said Cicely, to provoke him. 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


17 


But Bobby was of far too simple and modest a nature to 
be irritated by such malicious attacks. 

“ It is a matter of taste,” said he. “ We can’t be all in 
the cavalry, and I shouldn’t have done for it even if the 
governor could have stood the expense, because I never 
could make head or tail of a horse. But I dare say I shall 
do my duty as well as Archie when the time comes. At 
least I hope so.” 

“ Of course you will do it a great deal better, you dear, 
stupid old Bobby ! ” said Miss Bligh, who always chose to 
talk to this neighbor of hers as though he had been much 
younger than herself. “ You belong to the class out of 
which heroes are made, and will certainly end your career 
as an Admiral of the Fleet and a G.C.B., if only we give 
you the chance of distinguishing yourself by fighting the 
French or the Russians or somebody. Archie isn’t that 
sort of person at all. One can’t fancy Archie flourishing a 
field marshal’s baton, and I’m sure he doesn’t want such 
a thinly 

A ^ght flush of pleasure had overspread Mr. Dare’s 
cheeks when he heard himself described as a potential 
hero, but he did not appear to be altogether satisfied with 
Cicely’s criticisms upon her cousin. 

“ You must like him very much, or you wouldn’t run 
him down,” was his comment upon them. 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked the girl, with a wondering 
look. 

Only that I think you often run down the people whom 
you care for. You don’t mind giving a little pat on the 
back to the others — such as myself.” 

“You are rather rude, and rather ungrateful,” Cicely 
remarked. “ I am not at all in the habit of running any- 
body down, except, just occasionally, a few persons who 
deserve it ; but I certainly do like Archie very much. 
Have you any objection to my liking him ? ” 

Bobby did object very strongly to her entertaining any- 
thing beyond a sisterly affection for her cousin. But he 
could hardly say so without proceeding to further state- 
ments which he was not prepared to make on the spur of 
the moment; so he only said, rather despondingly, 
“ Archie is the sort of fellow' whom everybody is bound to 
like.” 

“ Aunt Susan doesn’t,” said Cicely, laughing ; “ she calls 
him a ‘ designing young man.’ ” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


i8 


“ Oh — Miss Skipwith ! But then she hardly counts, 
does she ? I mean, of course, she is a good old thing and 
all that, only nobody pays much attention to her.” 

“ No, nobody pays much attention to her,” agreed 
Cicely, in a somewhat grave voice. 

During the above conversation they had been moving 
slowly away from the quay, and were now mounting the 
steep street which led in the direction of the Priory. It 
did not lead towards Instowe, where Sir George Dare 
lived ; but perhaps Bobby was not eager to take the 
shortest way home. 

“Why does she call Archie designing?” he asked 
presently. 

“Oh, I suppose she thinks that my father will make him 
his heir instead of Morton. One can’t wonder at her 
thinking so. My father won’t do it, but it is what a great 
many people would do.” 

After this there was silence for some minutes. Then 
Bobby said, “ My sisters told me that your brother was 
expected down here. Is that true ? ” 

“ Yes ; he wrote to propose it himself, and he is to 
arrive this evening. Probably he has the same idea as 
Aunt Susan, and thinks it is time for him to bestir himself.” 
After a pause the girl resumed : “ I don’t feel as if he were 
my brother at all. I have only seen him twice in my life, 
and I didn’t like him. Is it wrong, I wonder, to dislike 
one’s brother when he is so very disagreeable ? ” 

“ It can’t be wrong, or you wouldn’t do it,” answered 
Bobby, with conspicuous imbecility. “Besides,” he con- 
tinued, “ I never met anyone who didn’t hate Morton. It 
is just like him to make up to poor Mr. Bligh at the last, 
after turning his back upon him all these years.” 

Now this was a perfectly true and justifiable speech, but 
the effect of it upon Cicely was not quite what the speaker 
could have wished. “ What do you mean by ‘ the last ’ ? ” 
she exclaimed, turning upon him angrily. “ It is abomin- 
able of you to say such things ! I don’t mind the people 
in the village, because it is their way of showing sympathy, 
and when they are in the least ill they always think they 
must be going to die ; but you have no right to be so 

stupid, and so so brutal. You must know perfectly 

well that my father is not a bit worse than he was a yeai 
ago. Don’t you know it ? ” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


19 


Bobby might have replied that he had been afloat a year 
ago, and consequently had not seen Mr. Bligh at the time 
referred to ; also, if he had been strictly honest he would 
have had to say that he thought Mr. Bligh very ill indeed. 
But he did neither of these things ; he only stammered 
out in accents of deep contrition, “ Oh, I beg your pardon ; 
I’m awfully sorry ;■ I didn’t think of what I was saying. I — I 
daresay he isn’t nearly as bad as he looks.” 

“ Well,” said Cicely, more calmly, ‘‘ you know nothing 
at all about it ; that’s one comfort. The truth is that his 
general health is perfectly good ; and although he may 
never be able to walk again ” (here Cicely’s eyes suddenly 
filled with tears and her voice trembled) “ there is nothing 
— nothing at all in his present condition to make us feel 
alarmed about him. I have Sir Peter Parsons’ authority 
for saying so, and I suppose you will admit that Sir Peter 
understands his business.” 

Bobby hastened to declare that he never for a moment 
thought of setting up his opinion against that of the 
eminent physician in question. Indeed he was certain that 
Sir Peter must be right. Still, of course, Morton might 
think differently. 

This explanation having been more or less graciously 
accepted, he felt encouraged to ask whether Miss Bligh 
wouldn’t like to come out fishing some day. Coppard, he 
said, had assured him that there was plenty of pollock in 
the bay, and sometimes one could have a lot of fun with a 
big conger. “And if it’s necessary for you to have a 
chaperon,” he added, a little reluctantly, “ perhaps Miss 
Skipwith would come.” 

At this Cicely burst out laughing. “ I really believe 
Aunt Susan would rather get on the back of a horse than 
trust herself in a boat,” said she. “ I’ll go out fishing with 
you some day, Bobby, and I daresay I may bring Archie 
with me if he cares to come. I certainly shan’t require a 
chaperon to look after me in the company of my own 
cousin and a boy like you. Now I have taken you quite 
far enough but of your way. Good-night.” 

Sub-lieutenant Dare, who was two-and-twenty years of 
age, did not quite relish being called a boy, but it was 
something to have obtained Cicely’s assent to his modest 
proposition, and it was something to know that Miss Skip- 
with might be dispensed with. As for Archie, perhaps he 


20 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


wouldn’t want to come. “ And perhaps if he does come 
he will be sick,” thought the young sailor. 

It is thus that love, which is in itself so pure and 
beautiful a sentiment, is wont to inspire even the most 
generous minds with ignoble desires. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE HEIR APPARENT. 

All his life long Archie Bligh had been practically his own 
master. It is a fate which is usually considered to be 
undesirable for the young ; yet it has its alleviations, and 
Archie, for his part, had never felt disposed to repine at 
it. Of his father he had no recollection at all ; his mother, 
who had idolized him and done her best to spoil him (but 
had not succeeded), had died while he was still at Sand- 
hurst ; and as his Uncle Wilfrid thus became his nearest 
relation, it was natural that he should have sp*ent at the 
Priory such holiday time as remained to him before he 
was gazetted to the 24th Lancers. The Priory, indeed, 
had always been a sort of second home to him, so that 
when, after an absence of three years in India, he returned 
with his regiment to his native shores, the first use that he 
made of his leave was, of course, to betake himself to 
Abbotsport. Perhaps it was almost equally a matter of 
course that the first thing he did upon jitrriving there was 
to fall over head and ears in love with his cousin Cicely ; 
for there was scarcely a young man "within a twenty mile 
radius of that enchantress’ abode who was not in the 
same sad case. Archie, to be sure, might have remained 
exempt, seeing that Cicely and he had been companions as 
children, and that he had not been at all in love with her 
then ; but that was because his youthful affections had 
been given to the eldest Miss Dare, who was now ap- 
proaching her thirtieth year, and had never been remarkr 
able for personal beauty. 

One cannot be a dashing young cavalry officer and pos- 
sess a snug little fortune of one’s own without having been 
made the object of flattering attentions on the part of the 
ladies who frequent garrison towns. Archie, therefore, 


MIS A D VENTURE. 


2t 


knew something of women, and thought that he knew a 
great deal. And this rendered him low-spirited ; for his 
experience convinced him that Cicely had by no means 
fallen a victim to his attractions. She did hot even seem 
to be aware that he had fallen a victim to hers ; although 
he had done his best to place that fact outside the range of 
scepticism. She made no stranger of him; she treated 
him very much as if he had been her brother — not to say 
her younger brother^ — she did not exert herself to enter- 
tain him, and took it for granted that he could amuse 
himself in his own way without her help. That very after- 
noon, when he had offered to accompany her to the vil- 
lage, she had laughed in his face, remarking, ‘‘ I don’t 
think you could visit any of my poor people without long- 
ing to be rid of me, and I am sure I couldn’t visit any of 
them without longing to be rid of you.” So he had been 
reduced to the necessity of taking a solitary walk into the 
country, which is a very dismal way of spending an after- 
noon. . After his meeting with Mr. Lowndes, he sauntered 
down the hill towards Abbotsport, and in due course of 
time his hopes were fulfilled by the appearance of his 
cousin, who greeted him from afar with a wave of her 
empty basket. 

Am I late for dinner ? ” she asked, when he quickened 
his pace and joined her. “ Did they send you to look for 
me ? ” 

“ Oh dear, no,” said Archie, consulting his watch, 
“ there’s heaps of time before dinner ; I did come to look 
for you, but that was on my own hook, and because I 
thought that perhaps, if I had the luck to meet you, you 
would let me walk home with you. What a long afternoon 
this has been ! ” 

“ Poor fellow ! ” exclaimed Cicely, with half-ironical 
compassion ; “ I suppose it must be desperately slow for 
you down here. What have you been doing with yourself 
since luncheon ? ” 

“ Nothing, in the fullest sense of the word. And what 
have you been doing? — if I may ask.” 

“ Well, I have distributed jellies and bunches of grapes 
to sick people, and I have listened to the domestic woes of 
Mrs. Coppard, and I have seen the trawlers come in, and I 
have administered a well-deserved scolding to Coppard, 
and I have had an interview with Bobby Dare, who, by the 


22 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


way,, had returned from a two days’ cruise with the fisher- 
men. Just imagine sleeping on board a trawler for 
pleasure ! Why is it that sailors always want to be at sea 
when they are ashore, and that soldiers hate nothing so 
much as the sight of a red coat when they are on leave ? ” 

“ Because sailors are usually men of one idea,” said 
Archie, promptly. “ Other people like to have a change 
occasionally.” 

“ And you are beginning .to think that you would like a 
change now, I daresay. I don’t wonder at it ; only, sel- 
fishly speaking, I wish you could bring yourself to stay 
here until Morton takes his departure. I don’t want to 
have Morton left upon my hands. I don’t understand 
him, and, what is more, I’m afraid of him.” 

“ I don’t believe you’re afraid of anybody or anything 
in the world,” returned her cousin ; “ but of course I shall 
be only too glad to stay here until I’m turned out, and I’ll 
do my best to be civil to your brother.” 

“Will you?” asked the girl, rather eagerly; “ I hope 
you will. He will certainly try to provoke you, but if you 
will bear in mind that that is what he wants, and if you 
will decline to be provoked, you will not only disappoint 
him but make things much smoother for the rest of us.” 

Oh, I’ll keep my temper,” said Archie, with a laugh. 
“ He seems to be an amiable sort of a chap. Why should 
he want to provoke me ? ” 

Cicely looked at him with a somewhat pitying smile. 
The reason was so obvious that he might surely have 
divined it. However, she liked him none the less for his 
obtuseness and only said : “ Morton isn’t amiable ; he 
tries to provoke most people. He used to succeed with 
me ; but I don’t mean him to succeed again, and I hope 
he won’t with you.” 

“ Does he succeed with Dare ? ” asked Archie, after a 
pause. 

“ I don’t think he has ever had the chance ; but any- 
how he wouldn’t be likely to consider poor Bobby worth 
powder and shot.” 

The slightly contemptuous tone in which this opinion 
was enunciated reassured Archie upon a point as to which 
he had begun to feel certain misgivings, and when he 
parted from his cousin and went upstairs to dress for din- 
ner, he felt in a sufficiently good humor to face any num- 
ber of disagreeable strangers. 


MISADVENTURE, 


23 


The Priory, as regarded a large portion of its outer 
walls, was an ancient structure ; but it had been constantly 
added to by its present owner, while the interior had been 
so thoroughly restored, re-modelled, and re-decorated that 
it was to almost all intents and purposes modern. Many 
people, of course, thought this a pity, and said so ; but 
then as Mr. Bligh was wont to remark, in answer to these 
criticisms, they had not been called upon to live in the old 
house. He and his architect had done their best with the 
materials at their command. The fine old entrance hall 
and the broad oak staircase had been left intact, and dark 
corridors, broken by unexpected steps, still afforded a 
somewhat dangerous channel of communication with the 
bedrooms ; but, since it had been found impossible to 
retain the distinctive character of the building in the 
living-rooms, all attempts to reconcile medisevalism with 
modern requirements had been abandoned there, and the 
library, to which Archie betook himself in the course of 
half an hour, was, as the critics complained, “ utterly 
characterless.” It was, however, spacious, cheerful, and 
sunny, when there was any sun to shine. 

It was in thi$ room that Mr. Bligh now spent nearly the 
whole of the day, and here Archie found him, resting in 
his wheeled chair by the bay window, and with a slightly 
troubled look upon his usually placid face. Beside him 
sat his sister-in-law. Miss Skipwith, whose face was seldom 
])lacid and now displayed signs of qnwonted agitation and 
excitement. “ I can’t think it wise, Wilfrid,” she was say- 
ing, as Archie entered. 

There were a good many things and there were two 
people at the Priory which and whom Miss Skipwith 
could not think wise. She was a thin, anxious, nervous 
little woman, with fluffy flaxen hair, which was turning 
grey, and prominent pale blue eyes. She was very much 
in awe of Mr. Bligh, although she had a poor opinion of 
his sagacity, and she worshiped her niece, of whose man- 
ners and customs she strongly disapproved. Her whole 
life was a mild protest, which those who lived under the 
same roof with her accepted smilingly and never thought 
of resenting. 

“ Who has been making a fool of himself now, Miss 
Skipwith ? ” inquired Archie. 

Miss Skipwith, who had never had any great affection 


24 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


for this young man and thought him disposed to be imper- 
tinent, drew herself up, compressed her lips, and made no 
reply ; but Mr. Bligh said : “ Oh, you’ll see presently, and 
I daresay you will agree with Susan. Nevertheless, I 
might have made an even greater fool of myself if I had 
refused to receive my only son. The most foolish thing 
that anybody can do is to put himself gratuitously in the 
wrong. Perhaps, if sufficient opportunity is given to him, 
Morton may do that, and then Susan will think better of 
me. Doesn’t that strike you as a wise way of looking at 
things ? ” 

Archie was fond of his uncle, because the latter had 
always been kind to him and had been a good sports- 
man in by-gone days ; but he was not fond of irony, 
which he would probably have defined as a needless 
and irritating habit of saying what you didn’t mean. 
“ I don’t know anything at all about it,” he answered 
rather curtly. 

At this moment the door opened and Cicely and her bro- 
ther entered the room together. There was a strong family 
resemblance between them j but this resemblance, as the 
most careless observer must have noticed at a glance, was 
only skin deep. Morton Bligh had been a very handsome 
man, and was so still, despite his waxy, unhealthy com- 
plexion, and the grey threads in his dark hair. Like his 
sister he was small, well-proportioned, and had delicately 
moulded features ; but his eyes and mouth differed greatly 
from hers, the former being narrow, glittering and too close 
together, while his lips were thin and had acquired an 
habitually smiling set which had no suggestion of mirth 
about it. 

“ I don’t think you have ever met your cousin Archie 
before, Morton,” said Mr. Bligh. 

“ Don’t remember to have had that pleasure,” answered 
the new comer, holding out a limp, white hand. “ Been 
in India, haven’t you ? or somewhere. I forget whether 
you’re a plunger or a gunner.” 

Archie explained good-humoredly that he was neither the 
one nor the other, and mentioned the distinguished corps 
to which he had the honor to belong. 

“ Oh, ah ! — the 24th Lancers, of course,” said the other. 
“ Beg your pardon, I’m sure. I suppose a I^ancer doesn’t 
like being called a plunger, does he ? ” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


25 


“ That entirely depends upon who calls him so,” said 
Archie. 

“ Really > Well, I hope you mean that you don’t mind 
my having called you so. The fact is that I know very 
little about soldiers ; though I believe I was once in the 
Yeomanry myself. I joined the Yeomanry to please you, 
you know,” he added, turning to his father. 

“ And retired to please yourself,” observed Mr. Bligh. 

“ Exactly so. I’m too much given to pleasing myself ; 
but it’s never too late to mend, and I’m going to turn over 
a new leaf now. The fact of my being where I am at this 
moment is a pretty convincing proof of that.” 

“ You don’t flatter us,” said Miss Skipwith, drily. 

“ My dear Aunt Susan, I’m incapable of it ; I don’t know 
how to flatter people, and it has been a great disadvantage 
to me through life. Besides you would never have believed 
me if I had told you that I came here for the pleasure of 
seeing you all.” 

Mr. Bligh laughed a little at this, but the other three 
persons present remained grave and felt the announcement 
of dinner to be a relief. Morton, however, did not seem 
to consider a change of subject obligatory or desirable. 
While he was eating his soup he explained that much as he 
hated the country he had thought it best to familiarize him- 
self with it, and with the management of a property which 
in the natural course of things must shortly be his. One 
may not be enamored of one’s station in life,” said he, 
“ still as one can’t escape from it, the only plan is to 
endeavor to fit oneself for it.” 

Cicely reddened with suppressed anger ; Archie was 
greatly shocked and scandalized ; and Miss Skipwith, in a 
high tremulous voice, began to talk about the danger that 
was sure to be done to the fruit-blossoms by the late frosts. 
But Mr. Bligh appeared to be much more tickled than 
annoyed at the calmness with which his approaching demise 
was counted upon. Morton was in many respects a queer, 
distorted reproduction of himself, and he recognized this 
with some inward amusement. He himself liad always had 
a great love for truth, and a great contempt for the phrases 
in which it is customary to wrap up truth ; only as he was 
courteous and kind-hearted, he could not have expressed 
himself as Morton did. That his son did not love him he 
was perfectly aware, and that his son should make no secret 


26 


MISAD VENTURE, 


of the fact scarcely disturbed him. What, perhaps, he did 
not quite realize was that his son was a very clever fellow. 

That was certainly not the opinion formed of him by 
Archie, who thought he had never met such a brute in his 
life. Archie, as has been said, was accustomed to look 
upon the Priory as his home, and had some right to do so, 
whereas Morton had not been near the place for many 
years. It was, therefore, not a little exasperating to the 
former to be treated by the latter as a guest. After Miss 
Skipwith and Cicely had left the dining-room, Morton 
(who was rapidly disposing of a decanter of port) urged 
him to have another glass of claret, begged him to smoke 
if he felt inclined, and apologized for the dullness of Abbots- 
port, where, he said, one really had no business to ask a 
man to stay at that season of the year. Mindful of the 
promise that he had made, Archie kept his temper and 
responded civily ; but Morton’s whole demeanor made his 
blood boil, and later in the evening he confided to Cicely 
that if that fellow meant staying, he was afraid he would 
have to go. 

“ I thought you would,” remarked the girl, rather sadly \ 

I am not at all surprised at it.” 

“ I won’t go if you would rather I didn’t,” said Archie, 
brightening up a little. 

“ Well, I told you that I didn’t want to have Morton left 
on my hands ; and I told you that he would try to provoke 
you. Can’t you manage to despise him ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I'think I can manage that much,” replied the 
young man, with a short laugh. 

“ I mean can’t you manage not to care what he says or 
does? My father isn’t angry, you see : yet he has rather 
more reason to be angry, perhaps, than you have.” 

“ I’ll try to imitate him,” answered A..rchie, sighing. 
“ It isn’t going to be easy, though, I can see.” 

He was young and peppery, while his uncle was old and 
philosophical, sick and weary. Moreover, his uncle, after 
all, was master of the house and of the situation, which 
made a difference. One may put up with a good deal of 
insolence and bad temper from a man whom it is in one’s 
power to disinherit at any moment. Still, Archie was re- 
solved to exercise self-control, and his resolution was put to 
a tolerably severe test when Morton and he had adjourned 
to the smoking-room. 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


2 ^ 


Cicely,” observed Morton, after offering his cousin a 
cigar, “ has grown up into a devilish good-looking girl. I 
suppose one will have to find a husband for her soon.” 

I should think she would choose for herself,” said 
Archie shortly. 

“ Well, it will save trouble if she does — supposing she 
makes a reasonable choice, that is. But she strikes me as 
a rather unreasonable sort of young woman. Added to 
which, there’s nobody for her to choose down here. A 
season in London might open her eyes a little.” 

“ In what way .? ” inquired Archie. 

Oh, I don’t say that it would make a reasonable being 
of her : there are so few reasonable beings about. But it 
would probably enlighten her as to her own market value, 
which is really a good bit above the average. You may 
depend upon it that the governor won’t leave her a penny 
less than .£30,000.” 

“ Oh, that is her market value, is it ? ” said Archie. 

Fortunately, she is not likely to offer herself for sale.” 

Morton screwed up his eyes and laughed unpleasantly. 
“ You think she will marry for love, then ? ” said he. 

“Yes, that is what I think, certainly.” 

“ We must try to save her from making such an idiot of 
herself. Love is delightful ; nobody has been more often 
in love than I have, and nobody appreciates the emotion 
more thoroughly. But then I have never made the mis- 
take of imagining that it could last more than two years at 
the very outside. Marriage is another affair altogether ; 
marfiage is essentially a bargain, and women are very well 
aware of that.” 

“You speak as though all women were alike.” 

“ So they are, my dear fellow. The popular belief is 
that there is a great gulf fixed between good and bad 
women ; but that’s nonsense. They differ in their talk, 
but they no more differ in their actions than men do.” 

“ I should have said that men differed a good deal in 
their actions,” observed Archie. 

“ That’s only because circumstances vary ; it isn’t be- 
cause human nature varies. It wouldn’t occur to you to 
steal a leg of mutton ; but you would a great deal rather 
steal a leg of mutton than be hungry. We’re all tarred 
with the same brush ; only it isn’t supposed to be the pro- 
per thing to say so.” 


28 


MISADVENTURE. 


“ I don’t know how that may be,” said Archie, “ but I 
know that if I had a sister, I shouldn’t like to talk about 
her as you do about yours.” 

“ You wouldn’t like to face facts, you mean : very few 
people do. Still it’s the safest plan, upon the whole ; and 
one unquestionable fact is that Cicely won’t fall a prey to 
a fortune-hunter if her affectionate brother can prevent it.” 

To this Archie made no rejoinder ; but throwing his 
cigar into the fire, got up and went to bed. It might be 
possible, he thought, to avoid quarreling with Morton, but 
it was quite impossible to help wanting to break his neck. 


CHAPTER IV. 

MADAME SOURAVIEFF. 

In me drawing room of a small, but artistically furnished 
house in Clarges-street, a lady was seated, scribbling off 
notes and letters with a great appearance of haste. This 
was the Countess Souravieff, a name pretty well known in 
all European capitals, except London, and now in a fair 
way to achieve notoriety there also. That the countess 
would ever achieve anything more than that doubtful 
advantage was, perhaps, not very likely : because in these 
days political adventurers have to contend almost every- 
where against democratic institutions, which limit the scope 
of their ingenuity. Still she was in some degree a person- 
age. Diplomatists took her into account ; prime ministers 
(one or two of them at all events) asked her to dinner, and 
listened with interest to what she had to say ; and the 
police kept a solemn and watchful eye upon her movements. 
This pleased her very much ; for she was an ambitious 
woman, and, what was more, she was quite in earnest. If 
there was one thing about which Madame Souravieff w'hs 
more certain than another (and she was certain about a 
remarkable number of things) it was that the Slavonic races 
were destined to rule the world. That being so, the sooner 
the Slavonic races got into the saddle the better, and she 
was now devoting all, her energies to giving them a leg up. 
With this end, and with certain subordinate and private 
ends of her own in view, she had taken a house in Mayfair 


M/SA D VENTURE, 


29 


for the season, had initiated friendly relations with a few 
politicians and journalists, and explained to sundry great 
ladies that if she did not live with her husband, that was 
only because her husband was a man for whom it was 
impossible to feel anything but antipathy. She was not 
divorced from him ; she was not even separated from him ; 
but, since they could not meet without disagreeing, they 
had thought it advisable to meet as seldom as might be. 

Judging by the quantity of invitation cards which lay 
upon her writing-table, the great ladies had considered 
these excuses sufficiently valid, and there was every pros- 
pect of Madame Souravieffs proving herself a social, if 
not a political, success. She had been a very pretty 
woman, and one would not have thought of employing the 
pluperfect tense in speaking of her had it not been for a 
few grey hairs in the neighborhood of her temples and a 
slight inclination towards embonpomt in her figure. Her 
complexion and her teeth were as perfect as they had 
always been, and her large, dark eyes quite as expres- 
sive. One kind of critic might have objected that her 
cheek-bones were a little too high, and another kind that 
she had loaded her white fingers with rather too many 
jewels : in other respects there was really no fault to be 
found with her appearance. 

Her. epistolary labors were interrupted every now and 
then by the entrance of a grave butler, who brought her 
cards upon a silver tray. Some of them he merely handed 
to her and then retired ; others appeared to call for some 
response, and this was always given in the same words — 
“ I do not receive.” It was not until the afternoon had 
become evening that this formula was departed from in 
favor of a gentleman whose card bore the name “ Mr. 
Mark Chetwode.” The butler, who was an observant 
man, and naturally wanted to find out anything that he 
could about the foreign lady whose service he had only 
just entered, fancied that Madame Souravieffs hand 
trembled slightly as she took this scrap of pasteboard from 
him; but, however that may have been, there was no 
tremulousness in her clear voice when she said, “ Yes, 
show him in.” 

He was shown in accordingly : a slim, pale man, very 
carefully dressed, who, despite his English name, had 
much more of the appearance of a Russian than the lady 


30 


M/S A D VENTURE, 


who rose to greet him. His age might nave been any- 
thing between thirty and forty. His fair hair was cut 
close to his head, after the foreign fashion, and had no 
parting ; his moustache was waxed ; his eyes were of so 
pale a blue as to be almost colorless ; his face (and this 
was what made many people admire him) had absolutely no 
expression whatsoever. One cannot help admiring a man 
who can manage to look a perfect blank without looking 
in the least a fool. 

“ What a pretty house ! ” he exclaimed, glancing appre- 
ciatively round the room. “ You look quite as if you lived 
here. But that is a way of yours. If you were planted in 
the middle of Siberia- — as perhaps you may be some fine 
day — you would make yourself completely at home in a 
few hours.” 

Madame Souravieff made a slight grimace. “ Is that 
all you have to say to me ? ” she asked. 

“ Oh no j I have so many things to say that the diffi- 
culty is to know where to start. Perhaps I had better 
begin by expressing my surprise and delight at meeting 
you in England.” 

“ That would be as good a way of beginning as another, 
if it were not absurd. You are never surprised, Mark ; 
and sometimes I think that you are never delighted. Of 
course I have very good reasons for being in England, and 
you know them all. For one thing, it is a free country,” 

“ So they say ; but to the best of my knowledge it is not 
a country in which one can do what one likes.” 

“ At any rate it is a country in which one can say what 
one likes without being sent to prison.” 

“ Yes — if that is an advantage. You will certainly ob- 
tain a good deal of sympathy, and possibly you may be 
able to collect a good deal of money, if you are careful to 
avoid specifying what you want it for. Setting politics 
aside, what motive have you for establishing yourself in 
Clarges-street ? — if one may venture to ask.” 

“ You ought not to require any answer to such a ques- 
tion,” said Madame Souravieff. 

Mr. Chetwode looked down at his neat little boots and 
tapped them meditatively with his cane for a few seconds. 
“ It is dangerous,” he said, at length. “ One may be 
watched in London just as well as anywhere else.” 

“ At least we can meet here and we could not meet at 


MISADVENTURE, 




Vienna or AViesbaden. Besides, wliat do I care? Let 
liim watch and spy to his lieart’s content. He can never 
lind out anything wrong about me, because there is 
nothing wrong to find out” 

“It might perhaps be sufficient if he found out tliat I 
visited you constantly. I doubt whether he believes in 
my entire devotion to the cause of Panslavism.” 

“ Nobody could believe easily in your devotion to any 
cause — or any ])erson,” returned Madame Souravieff, 
rather bitterly. You almost make me regret that I did 
not take you at your word long ago and say fiirewell to 
you for ever. iMost likely that is what you would have 
preferred. If you are weary of me, be honest and tell me 
so.” 

Mr. Chetwode raised his pale blue eye^ and smiled 
faintly. ‘‘You know how long I have loved you, Olga,” 
he replied. ‘‘ I am not weary, 1 am only hopeless. And 
why should you compromise yourself by receiving me ? It 
may get you into great trouble, and it can do no good to 
either of us. Do you know that when your note reached 
me I had serious thoughts of paying no attention to it? 
If I were a rich man the' case would be different ; but, as 
far as I can make out, I am very nearly a ruined man. I 
can do nothing either for you or for your cause, and, 
really, your wisest plan would be to show me the door.” 

Madame Souravieff seemed to be a good deal touched 
by the words, which were coldly enough enunciated. 
‘‘ Poor Mark I ” she exclaimed compassionately. “ Has 
your journey been a failure, then ? Are your affairs in a 
worse state than you expected ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, I expected them to be in a bad state. For some 
years past I have had very little to live upon beyond the 
rent that I received for my house, and now my tenant has 
departed, and the lawyer tells me that lam not very likely 
to find a fresh one. He thinks the best thing I can do is 
to live there myself. It is a cheerful prospect.” 

“ I can’t imagine you living in an Pinglish province,” 
remarked Madame Souravieff, smiling a little at the idea. 
“ What will you do with yourself? Who will your neigh- 
bors be ? ” 

“It is not unlikely that I shall blow my brains out. I 
have not had the curiosity to inquire who will be my 
neighbors. The village clergyman, I suppose, and the 


3 ^ 


M /SAD VENTURE. 


village doctor. Also a few native landowners — amongst 
others, the one who now owns the land whicl^^ught to be 
mine.” 

‘‘ I remember that you used to tell me about him. His . 
name is Bligh, and he gained a lawsuit against you, be- 
cause he was rich enough to bribe the judges. Was not 
that it?’' 

“ Not exactly. In this country judges are irremovable, 
which, I am assured, renders them incorruptible. Never^ 
theless, a rich Englishman is more likely to win a lawsuit 
than a poor one, because he can go on applying to superior 
courts. I believe it was in that way that Mr. Bligh 
obtained a decision against my father, whose means were 
limited.” 

Consequently Mr. Bligh can hardly be counted as a 
neighbor.” 

I do not precisely love him,” replied Mr. Chetwode, 
with his slow, faint smile, “ but if he sees fit to call iipofi 
me I shall return his visit. I hear, however, that he is a 
cripple ; so he probably won’t call upon me. Let us talk 
no more of my affairs, which are a most depressing topic of 
conversation. Tell me about yours. Has the date of the 
revolution been fixed yet ? ” 

“ What revolution ? ” inquired Madame Soiiravieff 
quickly. 

‘‘ I am so stupid ! I can’t at this moment recollect 
whether it was to take place inServiaor Bulgaria. How- 
ever, the Vienna people know all about it ; so that the 
})ersons interested have no doubt received full warning.” 

You accuse me of doing dangerous things,” observed 
Madame Soiiravieff ; don’t you think that you yourself 
sometimes say them ? When one has taken such engage- 
ments as you have done, one should be a little less reck- 
less.” 

‘‘ I am discretion itself in ordinary company ; but with 
you I feel sure that I am safe. The revolution has my best 
wishes ; only I am rather sceptical as to its coming off, 
because, as I tell you, the secret is already an open one.” 

Mark,” exclaimed Madame Soiiravieff, striking her 
hands together impatiently, “ you are a true Englishman ; 
you have no heart.” 

‘‘ And every body here tells me that I am not in the least 
like an Englishman. They say it regretfully and apologe- 


J//SJZ:> VKXTVKE. 


33 


tically, because, of course, it is such a very cruel thing to 
say of any one ; yet they think I ought to know it, in order 
that 1 may try to reform. As for my having no heart, 
that is a point upon which there can be no better judge 
than you. If you say that I have none, you are probably 
right.” 

Madame Souravieff made no rejoinder for some minutes. 
‘‘ And when do you propose to install yourself in this 
remote chateau of yours ” she asked abruptly, at length. 

“ I thought of going down to-morrow or the next day.” 

“ Although you know that I came here for^ — ^for ” 

For political objects, as I understood.” 

‘‘ Ah, yes ; for political objects. I had better stick to 
them, no doubt. Good-bye then, Mark, since you are so 
anxious to say good-bye.” And she held out her hand to 
him. 

You are rather unjust, Olga,” said Mr. Chetwode, with- 
out rising. ‘Mf I were anxious to leave London imme- 
diately after your arrival, and on account of it, that would 
be for your sake, not for mine. The count can do me no 
sort of harm ; it wouldn’t injure me in any way if he were 
to learn that I was in this house from morning to night. 
Ikit he might injure you very materially by the simple 
expedient of declining to i)ay your expenses any longer. 
You used to be fully alive to that risk.” 

Do you mean to tell me that you are going away 
for my sake, then ? ” 

“ Oh, no — although if I were able to stay in London I 
should endeavor to be circums]>cct fur your sake. I am 
going away for the vulgar but suliicient reason that I can’t 
afford to live here, d'he necessaries of life are cheap at 
Abbotsport 1 am told.” 

Madame Souravieff looked as if she were strongly 
tempted to make an offer which it has been agreed from 
time immemorial that no man who respects himself can 
accept. Probably knowledge of her visitor’s character re • 
strained her from doing so ; for she only sighed, and said : 

Abbotsport.^ Is there an hotel at Abbotsport ? ” 

“ Certainly not. I doubt whether there is even an inn ; 
though there may be a few alehouses.” 

“ Then I will tell you what I will do. When the London 
season is over, I will lake your house. Will you let your 
house to me for a few months ? ” 

9 


34 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


“ I shall be delighted ; only in that case, you see, I 
should have to go away.” 

“ Not necessarily. You could find accommodation 
in the neighborhood, if you chose. Have you not an 

iiitendant — a bailiff what do you call him? Turn him 

out of his house for the time ; it could be easily done. 
We must think it over and devise some plan. It is absurd 
that we should both be in England, yet unable to exchange 
a word.” 

“I suppose it is,” said Mr. Chetwode, rising; “yet, 
perhaps, it is even more absurd that we should continue to 
meet. As I told you before, I am useless and ruined. 
One should never compromise oneself for a ruined and 
useless man.” 

“ You are not useless, and 1 have not compromised my- 
self,” declared Madame Souravieff, warmly. “ As for ruin, 
]mbody is ever ruined except by his own fault. I want you 
to be great and powerful, and I think you will be some 
day. And I want to see you from lime to time, because — 
well, you know why. Try to believe, Mark, that one may 
be ambitious without being heartless, and that love is not 
always selfish.” 

“ Dear me ! ” said Mr. Chetwode, “ I thought that wjjs 
just what I was proving. The unselfishness of love, I 
mean. I know very little about ambition.” 

To look at him, one would have imagined that he knew 
quite as much about that passion as about the other ; and, 
.is a matter of fact, he was a man who had ahvays coveted 
power and had fretted under conditions which had made 
the attainment of any sort of distinction impossible lO him. 
Born and brought up at St. Petersburg, where his father, 
after marrying a Russian lady, had settled permanently, 
he belonged to his mother’s nation in habits and feelings, 
while remaining an Englishman in name. Thus he had 
]>een debarred from any career either in the land of his 
adoption or that of his origin, and wfiien his parents died 
he had passed the age at which a fresh start can be made. 

I'hey left him a moderate fortune, which he got rid of 
slowly, but steadily, over the card tables at his club. He 
had amused himself to the best of his ability, but that was 
not very well, becau.se, for his misfortune, amusements did 
not satisfy him. Of late years he had dabbled in political 
intrigues to an extent which had rendered his departure 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


35 


from St. Petersburg desirable, his chief reason for laboring 
in the cause of Panslavism being a desire to please Ma- 
dame Souravieff, with whom he had fallen as much in love as 
a man of his temperament could. As he walked away from 
Clarges-street, with both his hands clasped behind his 
back, he said to himself that he was very tired of Pan- 
slavism and of the solemn mystery in which his .fellow con- 
spirators were wont to shroud their proceedings. Perhaps 
he was also beginning to be a little tired of Madame Sou-, 
ravieff ; but this he did not say to himself, because there 
are misgivings which it is always unwise to formulate, lest 
they should thus resolve- themselves into unmistakable 
realities. For two years past Madame Souravieff had been 
everything to him : if he were now to lose the excitement 
by means of which she had been wont to make his some- 
what slugglish blood run more quickly in his veins, he' 
would have absolutely nothing left to live for. Life as an 
impoverished English country gentleman did not seem to 
him to offer any attractive' possibilities ; yet that was the 
kind of life which he had to face, and from which, so far 
as could be seen, no way of escape lay open to him. 
Thinking of this and of the forfeited income of certain 
lands, he forgot himself so far as to scandalize the cross- 
ing-sweeper in Berkeley Square ■ by cursing the Bligh 
family aloud, root and branch. 


CHAPTER V. 

.M A R k's L a W Y E R. 

Mr. Chetwode walked away from Madame Souravieff’s 
door with his eyes bent down gloomily upon the pavement, 
and his mind absorbed in meditation upon subjects with 
which his immediate surroundings for the time being had 
nothing to do. He therefore failed to notice a plump, 
middle-aged, smooth-shaven man of foreign aspect, who 
was loitering on the opposite side of the street, and who 
witnessed his exit with an amused smile. This individual’s 
smile expressed relief as well as amusement ; because he 
had been walking up and down Clarges-street for a long 
time, ^nd few duties are so fatiguing as that of mounting ^ 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


3 ^ 

guard. However, he was being handsomely paid for his 
work, which is always a consolation, and he was earning 
his pay by strict attention to duty, which is a greater con- 
solation still to the scrupulous mind. He glanced at his 
watch, sighed comfortably, and murmured : “ Enough for 
one day ! Fifteen carriages, of which the greater ])art 
have coronets upon them ; the society of London acce])ts 
Madame. No one is admitted until nearly six o’clock, 
when the suspected one presents himself. He enters, and 
emerges at the end of half an hour with the air of one who 
has wasted his time. But that is a detail which need not 
be mentioned in the report. If I am unable to watch the 
house continuously, that is due to no fault of mine but to 
the habits of these Phiglish, who are not Jidneui's. One 
cannot walk two or three times up and down a London 
street without making oneself conspicuous ; although on 
this occasion I have been fortunate enough to escape 
notice.” 

He had not been so fortunate in this respect as he sup- 
posed, for while he had been thus meditating and biting 
the end off a very long cigar, Madame Souravieff, who had 
moved to the window, had caught sight of him. “ What 
insolence ! ” she exclaimed, and immediately rang the bell. 

The grave butler, who presently appeared in answer to 
this summons, was surprised and somewhat scandalized by 
the order which he received. “ On the other side of the 
street there is a fat man who is lighting a cigar. Run 
across and tell him to come here at once ; I want to speak 
to him.” 

To suppose that a respectable English upper servant, 
who had lived in the very best families, would consent to 
“ run ” anywhere — and without his hat too — showed an 
ignorance of all propriety which could only be pardoned 
in a foreigner. The butler, of course, did no such thing ; 
but he despatched a subordinate, who overtook the stout 
stranger and duly delivered the message. 

The stout stranger did not look disconcerted. He 
smiled, glanced regretfully at his cigar, then carefully cut 
the lighted end off it and replaced it in his pocket. “ I am 
at the orders of Madame id Comtesse,” said he, in very 
fair English. 

And indeed nothing could have been more respectful 
than the bow with which he greeted Madame Souravieff, 


MI SAD Venture, 


37 


when that lady swc})t down into the dining-room, where 
he had been requested to wait for her, and fixed a pair of 
angry eyes upon him. ‘‘What does this mean, Victor.?” 
she asked, in f'rench. 

'The stout man slirugged his shoulders and s])rcad out 
his hands. “ Madame la Comlesse,” he replied, “ must be 
aware that 1 have no choice but to do my duty and obey 
the orders that are given to me.” 

‘Ms it the duty of a valet to be a spy? ” Madame Soura- 
vieff enquired. 

“ Mo?i Dicu^ madamc, we may say that it is the duty of 
every poor man to lay by a little money in anticipation of his 
old age. When Monsieur le Comte commands me to pro- 
ceed to London for a certain purpose, and not only pays 
all my expenses but promises me three -Napoleons as well, 
in addition to my ordinary wages, I find myself in the 
impossibility of refusing. 'J'he more so because I am per- 
suaded that I might remain here for months without making 
any revelation of importance.” 

“ You may certainly count upon that,” returned Madame 
Souravieff, disdainfully. “ At the same time it is • not 
agreeable to me to be watched, and I do not know why I 
should submit to such an insult.” 

“ With jiermission, Madame la Comtesse, how can you 
help it? Lor the rest, one must admit the Monsieur le 
Comte has reason to be disquieted. Monsieur desires to 
return to Russia as soon as his health may permit, and he 
is naturally anxious that he should not be coldly received 
at Court. It is said that Madame la Comtesse is i)ursuing 
a ])olicy which is not that of Mis Majesty the Czar.” 

“ Ah, bah 1 You were not sent here to report upon 
matters of policy, my good Victor. My political objects, 
of which I make no secret, are well known to Monsieur le 
Comte, and are, perhaps, less objectionable to His Majesty 
than is pretended. What is hoi)ed for is that you may 
furnish evidence which will be instrumental in bringing 
about a divorce ; but such evidence you never will be able 
to give, unless you perjure yourself. And you know that 
as well as anybody.” 

Vhe valet replied that Madame la Comtesse was a thou- 
sand times right. Nevertheless, she would understand 
that he must make his rei)ort. 

No doubt. Rei)ort then all that you have seen and 


38 


V mts;adventurr. 


all that you have not seen. Yon may even give a report 
of this interview, if yon choose. J have nothing to con- 
ceal.^’ 

'I'he man smiled deferentially. ‘‘Am 1 to say that Mr. 
Chetwode was here this afternoon, and that he was the 
only person whom madame deigned to admit } " he inquired. 

“ I have already told you that you are at liberty to report 
anything and everything, true or untrue.” 

“ I only ventured to ask the question, because I feared 
that it might not be agreeable to Madame la Comtesse to 
be summoned back to Germany. Have I permission to 
mention monsieur’s instructions to me ? ” 

Madame Souravieff nodded. 

‘‘ He said — I beg pardon for repeating such words — he 
said, ‘ I will not be disgraced. If you find that she has 
gone to England in order to meet Mr. Chetwode you will 
let me know, and I will at once cease remitting money to 
her. Detestable ’ — I quote him textually — ‘ detestable, 
though her company is to me, I prefer even that to being 
made a laughing-stock.’” 

Now Madame Souravieff did not mind being told that her 
company was detestable to her husband, because she knew 
that it was so, and had, indeed, always endeavored to make 
it so ; but she had no private fortune, and to be recalled 
from London to the German baths at 'which her husband 
was then sojourning would not have suited her at all. 
I'herefore, without any superfluous delicacy, she drew her 
purse from her pocket and handed a couple of bank-notes 
to her interlocutor, to whom she observed briefly : “ ^'ou. 
have not seen Mr. Chetwode.” 

The valet took the notes and bowed profoundly. “ I 
am convinced of it,” said he. “There was a gentleman 
somewhat resembling Mr. Chetwode who entered the house 
a short time ago ; but I could not be sure of recognizing 
him, and now that Madame la Comtesse tells me that it was 
not he, all doubt is at an end. For the rest, Madame la 
Comtesse knows that I am, as ever, devoted to her interests. 
If I can be in any way useful ” 

Madame Souravieff, who during this colloquy had been 
standing beside the dining-table, drummed upon it for a 
few seconds with her white fingers, while she looked over 
the man’s head. “ And monsieur’s health ? ” she asked 
abruptly, at length. . 


MIS AD VIuVrUDE, 


39 


Excellent, madame. A little gout — a little indigestion 
—which are yielding to the action of the waters. Mon- 
sieur counts upon returning to St. Petersburg before the 
winter.” 

“ Well,” said Madame Souravieff, with an impatient sigh, 
“you can go now. I am sure that I may rely upon your 
fidelity, because it must be delightful to be paid both for 
saying things and tor leaving them unsaid. Besides, you 
are now in my ])ower. In the event of any unpleasantness 
arising, I should not hesitate for a moment to tell monsieur 
that I had bribed you, and he would certainly believe me.” 

When Madame Souravieff was left alone, she began to 
laugh. She had a low, musical laugh, which was rightly 
considered to be one of her charms. “ I was perhaps too 
quick,” she murmured ; “ whatever Boris may have said, 
he is not likely to have said that. He would rather be 
despised than worried. Yet he is so malicious that he might 
be capable of putting up with my society if he knew how 
very much I should hate to leave hlngland just now. After 
all, the best way is to pay Victor, and it is amusing to 
think that Boris provides the money.” At this she laughed 
again ; for she had a certain mischievous, child-ish sense 
of humor, which also was one of her charms. 

However, she became grave and pensive while her maid 
was bedecking her for the dinner- party which she had 
promised to attend, and at which she expected to meet 
some eminent politicians. She was a woman of the world, 
whose worldliness was tempered by a large admixture of 
enthusiasm and romance. Of human nature in the abstract 
she had formed a tolerably accurate estimate, having had 
sufficient opportunity of so doing ; but it was not in her 
power to apj)ly this estimate to individuals, and thus she 
was unfitted for success either in public of in private life, 
l.oving Mark Chetwode as she did, with a perfectly disin- 
terested love, she was obliged to clothe him in her thoughts 
with attributes which her reason told her that he did not 
possess ; so that the memory of what he had sai(>and done 
often gave her some anxious moments. Her temperament, 
however, wa,^ so far a fortunate and happy one, that if any- 
tlting worried her she could almost always stop thinking 
about it ; and she ceased to tliink about Afaik very soon 
after she had seated herself in her carriage, ar:d was being- 
driven at a sharp trot towards Berkeley Square, where 


40 


MIS AD VEXTURE, 


Lord Qiieensferry, with whom she had been invited to 
dine, resided. 

Lord Qiieensferry was a man of over forty, who still 
looked young, and was always spoken of as being so. He 
was a Whig, and liked to be called a Radical ; he was a 
sportsman, though scarcely a keen one ; and he had made 
some smart speeches both in the House of Lords and upon 
the platform. Possibly he might never have risen to 
cabinet rank if he had not been so very rich ; but whatever 
the reason of it may have been, he had held high offices, 
and was sure to hold them again some day. At present he 
was in opposition, which left him free to amuse himself and 
others by delivering inflammatory harangues every now and 
then, by consort i'^g with queer people, and by asking 
Madame Souravic ff to dinner. 

That lady, on being shown into the great drawingroom 
at Qiieensferry House, met with a very cordial reception 
from her host and hostess, and found herself in highly- 
distinguished company. The guests were not numerous, 
but they were celebrated, and Madame Souravieff had not 
been three minutes in the room before she perceived that 
she herself was, for the time being, the chief celebrity 
amongst them. They all looked at her, they were all 
anxious to be introduced to her, and it was evident that 
they all thought her a remarkably handsome woman. This 
pleased her immensely, for she loved admiration, and 
delighted in being recognized as a factor in contemporary 
politics. But she knew better than to begin talking of 
politics at once. While dinner was going on she contented 
herself with asking many questions about English life and 
manners, and confessing to a strong affection for English 
people. 

“ I should like to be an Englishwoman,” she remarked 
ingenuously, during a pause in the . general conversation ; 
“ but since that cannot be, I must try to be a good Russian. 
It is ])erhaps the next best thing.” . 

Everybody thought her very nice and very clever, and in 
truth she managed to say some clever things in an unaf- 
fected way. She was, at all events, clever enough to know 
that English people are easily bored, and that nothing bores 
them quite so much as enthusiasm in private life. There- 
fore she kept a curl) upon herself until her opportunity 
arrived. 


Mrs AD VENTURE, 


41 


This was soon after dinner, when the venerable states- 
man whose countenance and sup])ort she specially coveted 
approached her and seated himself upon the sofa by her 
side. He crossed his legs, folded his hands, smiled 
benignly and said : Now, Madame Souravieff, you must 

tell me all about Bulgaria.” 

“ Ah,’’ she replied, ‘‘ what can I tell you that you do not 
already know ? You are one of those marvelous people 
who know everything.” 

The great man looked pleased, although he felt bound 
to disclaim the omniscience ascribed to him. When he was 
out of office he was compelled, he said, to derive his infor- 
mation from the newspapers, like the rest of the public, and 
such information was not always to be relied upon. 

“ Oh, the newspapers ! ” exclaimed Madame Souravieff, 
with a disdainful shrug of her slioulders. I have always 
been accustomed to read the English newspapers, and 
since I have been in T.ondon I have done so with additional 
interest. They are very nicely printed — one must render 
them that justice — but 1 haV'e often been obliged to rub 
my eyes in order to convince myself that the words which 
I seemed to see were actually there. The way in which 
they treat General Kaulbars, the most charming, the most 
inoffensive, the most placable man in the world, is enough 
to m.ake anyone doubt their good faith. Yet J really believe 
that they are honest. The English people are no doubt 
stupid and easily ^ iken in, but they are honest, and that 
is why I love them.*’ 

We are certainly honest,” said the statesman. 

“ Nevertheless you are, if I may be allowed to say so, 
curiously prejudiced. Your one idea is that Russia wants 
Constantinople and must be kept out of it. You will not 
believe that Bulgaria is in the hands of a gang of adventu- 
rers, and that the heart of the people is — as indeed it must 
be — with us. You can’t, or you won’t, understand that 
it is we. who have given freedom to Bulgaria, that the 
Bulgarians are our brothers by race and by creed, and that 
there is such a thing as gratitude even in politics.” 

“ A\'e may admit all that and yet not wish to see you at 
Constantinople, Madame Souravieff.” 

“ But can you prevent us from going there eventually ? 
Have you any alternative policy? 1 am only a woman, I 
have no pretensions to statecraft ; still I can see that right 


42 


MISADVENTURE, 


is might, not might right. It is a conflict between Chris- 
tianity and infidelity, and though Europe may choose to 
take the losing side and to close her eyes, and may retard 
the inevitable for many years to come, yet at last Chris- 
tianity must conquer, as it always has conquered. The 
Cross will be raised again upon the dome of St. Sophia — I 
am as certain of it as I am of my own existence — the only 
question is whether this shall be done with or against the 
will of Christendom.” 

She spoke with a great deal of animation, and perhaps 
her beauty and her earnestness may have impressed her 
auditor, who remarked, “ I, at least, shall hardly be 
accused of entertaining any sentiments of tenderness for 
the Turks.” 

‘‘ Nor for us either, I am afraid. Ah, if you only under- 
stood us and would trust us ! There are but two great 
races in the world, the Anglo-Saxon and the Slav. Let 
them be friends, instead of enemies, and the peace and 
happiness of mankind is assumed. Is it too much to hope 
for such an understanding? ” 

Whether this was or was not an extravagantly sanguine 
expectation, she was encouraged to enlarge upon it, and 
the succeeding half hour was made extremely pleasant to 
her. By the end of that time the room was full of people, 
for Lady Queensferry was holding a great reception, to 
which she had invited every man and woman whose name 
appeared in her visiting-book. Amongst them were many 
persons who wished to be recognized by Madame Soura- 
vieff’s interlocutor, and amongst them, too, was a certain 
obscure (comparatively obscure) solicitor who, for reasons 
of his own, was anxious to make Madame Souravieffs 
acquaintance. 

He attained his object without any difficulty, and she 
smiled with her usual graciousness when the little chubby, 
grey-headed man, who was introduced to her as “ Mr. 
Wingfield,” drew his heels together and made her a pro- 
found bow, though she wondered who Mr. Wingfield might 
be and what he could have to say to her. 

He had plenty to say to her about political matters, and 
was much less reserved than the great statesman had been. 
He quite saw the force of all her arguments ; he professed 
himself a Liberal — a moderate Liberal- — and was willing to 
allow that the British public might have been wholly misled 


MISAD VEXTURI^:. 


43 


as to the state of afiairs in the Balkan provinces. But of 
course she understood perfectly well that he only reached 
his point when he remarked casually, “ A great friend and 
client of mine, who, I believe, is also a friend of yours, is . 
deeply interested in the Eastern Question. I mean poor 
young Chetwode.” 

“Why do you call him poor?” Madame Souravieff 
inquired. 

“ Because, unfortunately, he is very poor indeed. He 
seems to have spent nearly the whole of his fortune — 
whether in support of revolutionary committees or not, of 
course, I can’t say — and the income arising from the small 
extent of property which still remains to him in this country 
can hardly do more than keep the big house which stands 
upon it in repair.” 

“ He was defrauded of a part of his property by a neigh- 
bor of his, was he not ? ” asked Madame Souravieff. 

The lawyer laughed. 

“ Oh, well, his father used to say so, and I believe he 
himself has some such idea. As a matter of fact, old Mr. 
Bligh, the father of Mark’s present neighbor, held mort- 
gages and foreclosed. Old Mr. Bligh may not have been 
very friendly or forbearing; but he was certainly within 
his right. However, the transfer of the land has left a 
great deal of bitter feeling, which is to be regretted. In 
your wide experience you must have met with many queer 
types of humanity, Madame Souravieff ; did you ever hap- 
pei) to come across a romantic lawyer before ? ” 

“ Frequently,” answered Madame Souravieff, smiling. 
“Why not?” 

“ Well, perhajDs they are more common in Russia than 
they are in England. Anyhow, I have always regarded 
myself as singular in that respect. It is an amiable weak- 
ness which I can’t help, and which, after all, harms no- 
body. Lately I have been beguiling my leisure moments 
by constructing a romantic plot, of which Mark Chetwode 
is the hero and Mr. Bligh’s only daughter the heroine. I 
must tell you that Mr. Bligh is a very rich man, and that 
his daughter will certainly inherit a considerable fortune 
from him, if she does not inherit the whole of his landed 
property.” 

“ Is she pretty?” asked Madame Souravieff, quickly. 

“ I believe she is not plain,” said the astute solicitor ; 

“ but one must not be too exacting in such cases.” 


44 


MISADVENTURE. 


He looked sharply, as he spoke, at the Russian lady, 
who preserved an unrufified exterior. “ I hope,” said slic 
musingly, “that your romance may become a reality. It 
would be a very good thing.” 

“ Yes, yes,” returned Mr. Wingfield, nodding his head: 
•• it would be a good thing. A good thing for Mark, and,, 
perhaps, not a very bad thing for the revolutionary com- 
mittees.” 

“ Oh, I know nothing about revolutionary committees,” 
Madame Souravieff declared; “ it is only from the news- 
papers that I hear of their existence. Still, there is no 
cause in the world that can be kept going without funds, 
and you are quite right in guessing that Mr. Chetwode will 
be more valuable to us as a rich man than as an impover- 
ished one.” 

She turned away with a little nod of dismissal, leaving 
Mr. Wingfield in some doubt as to whether she would 
prove to be an ally or an opponent of his. “ But I am 
pretty sure of one thing,” he reflected ; “ I am pretty sure 
that Mark wants to be rid of her.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

ARCHIE GOES OUT FISHING. 

“ Lowndes brought me a bit of news this morning,” 
remarked Mr. Bligh, addressing the four persons who were 
seated at luncheon round the oval table. 

“ 1 know what it is,” exclaimed MissSkipwith excitedly ; 
“ I have been expecting it for weeks past. The bishop 
has forbidden him to use the eastward position, and I 
must say that I think the bishop is perfectly right. 1 do 
hope Mr. Lowndes will not be so silly" as to go on defying 
the law.” 

“ Oh, I fancy he will,” answered her brother-in-law, 
placidly. “The 'bishop hasn’t been so silly — or so wise, 
which is it ? — as you imagine. Lowndes’ news was of a 
less important kind. It is only that young Mark Chet- 
wode is coming home.” 

“ Coming to live at Upton Chetwode, do you mean? ” 
asked Cicely eagerly. “ I call that very important indeed. 


M/SJ D VENTURE. 


45 


Is he really going to settle there, or is he only coming 
down until he can find another tenant? ” 

“That Lowndes didn’t know,” answered Mr. Bligh. 
“ Probably Chetwode would be glad to let the place again 
if he could; but it isn’t very letable, and he can’t afford to 
leave it empty. The chances are that he will have to 
occupy it himself for a good many years to come.” 

“ Poor devil I ” ejaculated Morton, compassionately. 

“ You wouldn’t like to be situated as he is, would you? ” 
asked his father, with a smile. 

The heir-apparent took some trouble to make his mean- 
ing clear. Certainly he would not care to be in Mark 
Chctwode’s shoes, because, in his opinion, nothing could 
be more wretched than to live in a large house surrounded 
by lands which had passed away from one’s family, and to 
be reminded at every turn that one represented a worn-out, 
poverty-stricken race. He did not in the least believe that 
the day of territorial influence and usefulness had gone by ; 
only landowners who depended for an income on their 
land were now an anachronism. They couldn’t live upon 
such an income, much less help others out of it. “ Look 
at this property, for instance,” he added. “ It is a well- 
managed property, I believe ; but if it were mine 1 would 
much rather sell it at once than attempt to keep things 
going upon the rents that I could squeeze out of my 
tenants.” 

“ I trust that you will never be reduced to so painful a 
necessity,” said Mr. P»ligh, with such a slight twinkle in his 
eyes that nobody noticed it. 

“ I remember that 1 used to hear vague rumors about 
the Chetwodes when I was a boy,” remarked Archie. 
“ 'I'he Abbots])ort people shook their heads over them, and 
doubted whether they weren’t traitors to their queen and 
country. Didn’t they stay in Russia all through the 
Crimean War? ” 

“ I believe so,” answered Mr. Bligh ; “ but as Mark was 
not born at that time we must not hold him responsible. 
I daresay you recollect old Mr. and Mrs. Morant, who 
lived at Upton Chetwode for many years. They are both 
dead now, and I suppose it isn’t easy to find anybody who 
would care to take such a large house, with nothing 
attached to it beyond the park and a few acres of wood- 
land.” 


46 


M/SJ D VENTURE, 


“ There are pheasants in the woods,” said Cicely, “and 
there might be many more at the cost of a little money and 
trouble, Upton Chetwode is a dear old place, which must 
not be allowed to fall into ruins. I shall seize the first 
opportunity of telling Mr. Chetwode that it is his duty to 
take up his abode there.” 

“ You have such a convincing way of putting things, my 
dear,” observed her father, “ that 1 am quite sure he would 
see his duty at once, if only a chance of pointing it out to 
him were given you. Unfortunately, there is very little 
prospect of your getting that chance, because I am afraid 
he has been taught to regard us as hereditary enemies.” 

“ Oh, but he must not be so ridiculous,” Cicely declared, 
decisively. “Old Mr. Wingfield told me all about that 
when he was down here last year, and he himself said that 
it was perfect nonsense. The Chetwodes couldn t have 
kept their property in any case ; and they ought to be 
thankful that it wasn’t grabbed by some horrid old Jew or 
other. Besides, if ever he has money enough to buy it 
back 1 am sure we shall be delighted to let him have it.” 

“ Shall we. indeed ? ” said Mr. Bligh, laughing. “ I was 
not aware of that ; but since you say so no doubt it is so.” 

Morton glanced at his sister from beneath his lowered 
eyelids, and remarked : “ Little girls shouldn’t be so cock- 
sure of other people’s intentions.” 

'I'his brought about an uncomfortable period of silence, 
soon after which the company dispersed. Mr. Bligh was 
wheeled away to the library ; Miss Skipwith, murmuring 
something about having letters to write, fluttered after him 
towards the sitting-room which was appropriated to her 
especial use ; and Morton, with a cigar in his mouth and 
his hands in his pockets, made for the smoking-room. 

“ How long,” asked Archie, when he was left alone 
with his cousin, “ do you suppose that your dear brother 
means to stay here ? ” 

She shook her head rather despondently. “ I think he 
is very tired of us,” she replied, “but then, unhappily, we 
have not been able to conceal our desire for his departure. 
Perhaps if we all went down on our knees and implored 
him to remain with us he might fly.” 

Archie did not seem disposed to treat the matter in so 
light a spirit. “ The man is simply intolerable ! ” he 
declared. I have put up with him for three days, and 


MISADVENTURE. 


47 


in spite of great i)rovocation I have behaved to him, I 
really must say, like an angel — for your sake.” 

“ Thank you,” said Cicely, with a little bow. 

“ Well, you asked me to be civil to him, you know. But 
I don’t think I can stand his perpetual impertinence to 
you much longer.” 

“ If I can stand it I should think you might. T really 
don’t mind what you call his impertinence ; the only thing 
that distresses me is that I am afraid his being in the 
house worries my father. However, it can’t be helped, and 
there’s no use in talking about it. What are you going to 
do this afternoon ? Would you like to be taken out fishing 
with me and Bobby Dare ? Bobby wrote to me this 
morning to say that he had hired a boat of old Cojipard 
(who, by-the-way, must have borrowed it, for he hasn’t one 
of his own), and it would be an act of charitydf we were to 
make use of it.” 

“ Of charity to Dare or to Mr. Coppard ? ” inquired 
Archie. 

‘‘ Well, to both, perhaps,” answered the girl, laughing. 
“ Besides, it might help to amuse you — which is more to 
the purpose.” 

Archie was not quite sure that it would amuse him to put 
out to the sea ; because the wind was in the east, and, as 
everybody knows, the wind cannot blow from that quarter 
in the English Channel, be it never so softly, without 
raising a long swell, which is apt to be disconcerting to 
landsmen. But he was not going to miss the chance of 
spending several hours in Cicely’s society ; still less was he 
inclined to leave her for several hours in the society of 
Bobby Dare. 

Presently, therefore, the two young people set forth for 
the village, and Morton, who espied them from the smok- 
ing-room window, muttered : “ Hang the fellow ! he ought 
to be ashamed of himself. If he had the feelings of a 
gentleman he would understand that he has no alternative 
but to clear out and not show his face here again until a 
certain event has taken place. He may come back then, 
and welcome.” 

But Archie was free from any of the scruples wliicli, 
according to this rigid moralist, ought to have disturbed 
jiim, because — incredible though that would have seemed 
to the rigid moralist — he was free from any suspicion of 


48 


MISABV£.VTURE. 


their appropriateness. He adored Cicely, and that was all 
that he thought about in connection with her. He did not 
believe his uncle to be dying ; he had never asked himself 
what would happen when his uncle died, or supposed that 
it was in contemplation to put him in Morton’s place. All 
his life he had had a sufficiency of money, and the idea of 
being wealthy would not have been especially attractive to 
him, even if it had entered his head. What chiefly ])reoc- 
cuj)ied him just now was an uneasy feeling of jealousy of 
Bobby Dare, which, as almost anybody could have told 
him, was a perfectly absurd sentiment to harbor. It was 
well known in the neighborhood of Abbotsport that Miss 
Bligh held her head very high indeed, ^.nd that there was 
little likelihood of her throwing herself away upon the 
younger son of a baronet whose rent roll, probably, did 
not exceed ,;&4,ooo a year. But the Abbotsport estimate 
of Miss Bligh was unknown to Archie ; nor, perhaps, had 
it been revealed to him, would he have recognized its 
accuracy. 

“ What sort of a chap has Dare developed into ? ” he 
asked her, while they were walking at a brisk pace across 
the park; and when she replied carelessly, Oh, rather a 
nice, manly boy,” he felt reassured. He himself had not 
yet passed the age of those — fortunatos nimium — who 
can’t hear themselves described as boys without considering 
that they have been insulted : so he was quite prepared to 
extend the hand of tolerant goodfellowship to his old 
acquaintance, Lieutenant Dare, R.N., who had been walk- 
ing impatiently up and down the jetty for a good half-hour 
before the arrival of Cicely and her escort. 

Bobby Dare, for his part, was not precisely overjoyed 
to see the young Lancer, for whose appearance he had not 
been prepared ; but as he was a thoroughly kind-hearted 
and good-natured little fellow, he said everything that was 
polite, and was even considerate enough to mention that 
there . was a bit of a lop outside. 

“ I know Miss Bligh doesn’t care,” he said, “ she’s as 
good a sailor as I am. But there are a good many people 
who cannot stand an easterly swell.” 

Archie at once gave it to be understood that he was not 
one of the unfortunates alluded to ; and from the bottom 
of his heart he hoped he was not. At all events, he would 
have died rather than retreat at the eleventh hour, and he 


MIS AD ffa-turp:. 


49 


seated himself in the boat with a grim determination that if 
by any means the mind could be made to dominate the 
body he would not disgrace himself. 

Now there is no doubt but that the mind can dominate 
the body to a certain extent and within certain limits. Any 
ordinary person, by putting forth the full strength of his 
will, may keep himself for a time from fainting or from 
being sea-sick : but even an extraordinary person is bound 
to be vanquished at length. In the former case the colors 
have to be hauled down when everything becomes black ; 
in the latter defeat is indicated by symptoms upon which 
it is needless to dwell. Archie was well acquainted with 
them, and was thankful that he did not experience them 
during the first half-hour that he spent on board the 
Nevertheless, he was not altogether happy. There was 
very little wind, but the ebbing tide was raising a nasty 
cross sea, over which the boat plunged and rolled uncom- 
fortably ; he was afraid that he was looking rather green, 
and he felt incapable of keeping up conversation. Over 
the side he was dangling a line with which old Coppard 
had provided him ; although nobody knew better than old 
Coppard that there was not the remotest prospect of any 
fish being caught under existing circumstances. But after 
all, fishing of that kind is never a very exciting form of 
sport, and in truth neither Bobby Dare nor Cicely cared a 
straw whether they were successful or not. Cicely was 
enjoying herself. She loved the sea ; perhaps, too, she 
did not dislike the humble worship of her neighbor, who, 
with the tiller under his arm, was looking unspeakable 
things at her. She ignored the unspeakable things, but 
listened wullingly to those which were spoken, and dis- 
j)!ayed a kindly interest in what Bobby told her about his 
prospects. He had been through a course of gunnery 
instruction ; he hoped soon to be afloat again ; he con- 
fessed that he did not care much about a prolonged lea-ve, 
and said, with something of a sigh, that his profession was 
all he had to live for. His wooing could hardly be called 
a wooing, because it started with the assumption that 
there was no hope for him (which is a very fatal assiinq)- 
tion to start with) ; yet he obtained a measure of compassion 
and gratitude which his rival noted with vexation. It was 
not pleasant to hear Cicely saying that if she had been a 
man .she would certainly have been a sailor; it was still 


50 


MTS AD VENTURE. 


less pleasant to catch fragments of confidential communi- 
cations about her brother, which she thought fit to make 
to one who was in no way concerned with her family 
affairs ; and what was worst of all was to be treated as 
non-existent. Archie was not accustomed to be so treated ; 
he did not appreciate the delicacy which deterred his 
cousin from looking at him or addressing him ; and so, as 
lime went on, his physical uneasiness became complicated 
by a sharp attack of jealousy and ill-temper. 

Meanwhile, Coppard, who had been sitting in the bows, 
with his elbows on his knees, and had been keeping very 
quiet (for he w^is not sure whether Miss Cicely had forgiven 
him yet) was also growing uneasy. Coppard knew that 
the wind was shifting — had, indeed, already shifted a point 
or two to the southward. Furthermore, he knew that it 
was going to blow, and had private misgivings which he 
felt bound at last to express. 

“ What should you say to getting about, sir ? ” he asked 
deferentially. “ ’Tis working up rather ugly to the west’ard, 
and we may get more of it than we want presently.” 

Bobby rose and took a quick survey of the horizon. 
‘‘Yes, there’s a change of weather coming,” he agreed, 
“ but I expect we shall be all right until after sunset. What 
do you think. Miss Bligh ? Do you want to go back ? ” 

Cicely did not want to go back, but she did think that 
the sky looked threatening. After a momentary hesitation, 
she referred the question to her cousin. “ Have you had 
enough of it, Archie ? ” 

Thereupon Mr. Coppard was ill-advised and ill-mannered 
enough to chuckle. “ More’n enough, miss, you may 
depend ! ” answered he, before Archie could open his lips. 
Then it was that Archie was impelled to declare promptly 
and mendaciously that for his part he didn’t care if they 
stayed out till midnight. Now this, little as he supposed 
it, 'was by no means an impossible contingency. The 
south-west wind defied precedent, as it sometimes will, by 
rising, first in puffs, then with steadily increasing force, a 
good hour before its proper time, and soon the Rover 
running before it towards Abbotsport without any certainty 
of being able to make that haven. The harbor, it is true, 
was protected by a breakwater, which Mr. Bligh had 
caused to be constructed, but then this breakwater had 
for years past been causing the gradual formation of a bar, 


ADVENTURE. 


51 


and under certain conditions of tide and wind this bar was 
an obstacle which had to be taken into account. 

“ I doubt we shan’'t do it, sir.” said Coppard to the man 
at the helm. 

“Oh, we shall do it right enough,” returned the latter, 
who had himsell been peering somewhat anxiously across 
the curling waves ahead ; “ there ought to be plenty of 
water.” 

“ So there did, sir ; you never spoke a truer word. But 
maybe there ain’t, you see. ’Tis nigh upon low water now, 
and the sea setting straight in.” 

“ Well, but what are we to do if we can’t cross the bar, 
Coppard ? ” Cicely inquired. 

Coppard had to confess that in that case there would be 
nothing for it but to stand out to sea again and await the 
turn of the tide. , This, he hastened to add, would involve 
no sort of risk ; the Rover would make nothing of far 
worse weather than they were likely to see that evening. 
Only, to be sure, they might get a wetting. 

“ Hang it all, man ! ” exclaimed Archie, with a sudden 
outburst of irritation, “ if you knew there was going to be 
any difficulty about getting into harbor, why did you keep 
us out so long ? I suppose the fact is that you’re paid by 
time.” 

He might have brought many more injurious accusations 
without giving half so much offence. The only excuse for 
him was that he was afraid neither Cicely nor Bobby 
would much mind being exposed to the buffeting of the 
waves for another two or three hours, whereas he knew 
for certain that he himself must very shortly collapse. 

Coppard behaved extremely well. For a moment he 
scowled angrily at the young man, but he controlled him- 
self and only answered : “ I’ll take ’ee in, sir, if so be as it 
can be done. I don’t want Miss Cicely to be put to no 
inconvenience.” 

So they kept -on their course, while a little group of 
persons who were watching them from the jetty hoped 
that they might be in time, but had doubts about it. 


$2 


MIS AD VEXTUAV-. 


CHAPTER VTI. 

THE ARRIVAL OF THE ALIEN’. 

“ Your view, then,” said Mark Chetwode, “is that I must 
grin and bear it ? ” 

He was sitting in the city office of Mr. Wingfield, 
whither he had betaken himself in order to consult his 
family solicitor about certain matters of liusiness, the dis- 
cussion of which had gradually led to a topic very near his 
heart — that, namely, of the transfer of a part of his here- 
ditary possessions to Mr. Bligh. 

“ Sly dear sir,” answered the little lawyer, folding his 
hands and smiling amiably, “ what other view could a 
sensible being take? Nobody asks you to grin, but as for 
bearing it — well, I suppose we must all bear what can’t be 
helped. Your poor father, I know, persisted in thinking 
that he had been defrauded, but that, if I may be allowed 
to say so, was very great nonsense. He mortgaged his 
land, he was unable for a considerable time to pay the in- 
terest due, and then the mortgagee foreclosed. You may 
be as angry as you please with the mortgagee, but \ really 
don’t see how you can imagine that you have any legal 
claim against him. For the matter of that I confess that I 
don’t see much sense in being angry with him either.” 

Mark Chetwode stroked his moustache and fixed his 
colorless eyes upon Mr. Wingfield. “ I am very seldom 
angry,” said he ; “ only I should have thought that in this 
country, where justice is supposed to reign supreme, a man 
would have been allowed some chance of redeeming his 
own. My father, as you know, could have done that, if 
time had been given him.” 

“ Your theory,” observed the lawyer, with a smile, 
“ favors an insecurity of title which would hardly be to the 
public advantage. Not that it matters much. Your 
father, you say, could have freed the estate ; but could you 
do so ? ” 

“ No, because I have been a fool, and have squandered 


Jf/SJJ) J 'EXTURK. 


53 


my patrimony. That, however, does not jnevent me from 
regarding ]\[r. Bligh as a licensed robber. I am unreason- 
able, if you choose, but that is how 1 feel.” 

‘‘ Well now,” said the lawyer, persuasively, “ 1 wouldn’t 
feel in that way about it if 1 were you ; 1 wouldn’t really. 
It’s a little bit al)surd, you know, and 1 am sure that you 
are no lover of absurdity. You have a fancy — a very 
natural and very creditable fancy — for recovering the land 
which once belonged to your family. But there are more 
ways than one of doing that. Or, to be strictly accurate, 
there is only one way ; and 1 should think that it would be 
by Jio means an unpleasant one. A[r. Bligh, who won’t 
live much longer, has a daughter ; and from all that I hear 
his daughter has an excellent chance of being his heiress.” 

“ He has a son, too, hasn’t he ” 

‘‘ Yes, but his son is a black sheep. Not an ordinary 
black sheep, who might be expected to turn more or less 
white on acquiring wealth and responsibility, but one of a 
deep and permanent dye. Morton Bligh has advertised 
himself, too, as a Radical. Also he is a freethinker, who 
has translated the freedom of his thoughts into action 
after a fashion which shows that he has the courage of his 
opinions. There is no saying what mischief a fellow like 
that might not work in such a i)lace as Abbotsj)ort, where 
feudal traditions still linger. His father, who is a con- 
scientious Tory, is afraid of his son and would like to 
disinherit him. He is not fond of his son and he adores 
his daughter. His present scheme, if 1 am correctly in- 
formed, is to disinherit the son in favor of the daughter, 
always supposing he can get the daughter to marry a 
nephew of his, a subaltern in a cavalry regiment. But the 
young lady is said to be self-willed ; and for my own part 
T should imagine that a young lady’s first cousin would 
always start rather heavily handicapped.” 

“ Oh, I see. You would advise me to enter myself 
against the subaltern?” 

“ ^^'hy not ? It would be an honorable and satisfactory 
method of attaining your object.” 

Mark Chetwode laughed. He had a singularly dreary 
laugh. 

“ I am much obliged to you,” he said, “ but there are 
reasons which I am afraid would make it impossible for 
me to adopt your suggestion.” 


54 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


Mr. Wingfield knew a great deal better than to inquire 
what those reasons might be. He only remarked, after a 
pause, during which he had glanced at some of the letters 
which were lying upon his table : By the way, I met your 
friend, Madame Souravieff, at Lord Queensferry’s the other 
night. Lord Queensferry, who is a client of mine, askS’ 
me to his big crushes, and in that way I get occasional 
glimpses of celebrities. Madame Souravieff is a celebrity, 
isn’t she? Anyhow she is a very clever woman.” 

“Did you think so ?” returned Mark, languidly. “What 
did she talk about to you ? ” 

“ Oh, not much about politics ; she probably under- 
stood that my political opinions were of no great impor- 
tance to anybody. I think we talked more about you 
than about anything else. And she quite agreed with me 
that you could not do better than marry Miss Bligh.” Mr. 
Wingfield, as he made this assertion, peeped from under his 
eyelids at his visitor, whose impassive countenance did not 
change. The lawyer, however, was a close observer, and 
he thought that he detected an almost imperceptible move- 
ment, which could not be called a start yet might be taken 
as an equivalent to one, on the part of the younger man. 

Mark said, “ That was generous of her, because she 
doesn’t as a rule like her friends to marry.” 

The subject was not pursued further, and soon after- 
wards he took his leave. He walked meditatively for 
some distance down the street, and the upshot of his 
meditations was that he said to himself, “ I don’t believe 
it.” As a matter of fact he seldom believed in anybody or 
anything, experience having convinced him that most 
things and people are false. Still it seemed worth while to 
proceed to Clarges-street^with a view to making investiga- 
tions ; so he hailed a hansom and had himself driven to 
Madame Souravieff’s door. 

That lady was at home and was glad to see him, or at 
all events professed to be so. 

“ I didn’t expect you to-day,” she said ; “ you told me 
you wouldn’t be able to come.” 

“ I didn’t think 1 should be able to come,” he said; “ I 
had to go and hold a conference with my old solicitor, Mr. 
Wingfield, and T imagined that he would detain me longer 
than he did. As it happened, our conferem e was brief 
and unsatisfactory. He assured me that I had nothing at 


M/S/l D VENTURE, 


55 


all to complain about, that the })rO])erty which was once 
ours now belonged {juite legitimately to Mr. Bligh, and that 
if I wanted to get it back again 1 had better begin paying 
my addresses to Mr. Bligh’s daughter, wlio, it siaans, is not 
unlikely to be his successor before long.” 

Madame Souravieff nodded. “ \'es, that is what lie said 
to me,” she observed. "• Did he tell you that we had met 
at Lord Queensferry’s ? ” 

He did, and he added that you approved of this 
scheme. I had just a shade of difficulty in believing 
him.” 

A Very slov/ and faint liush overspread Madame Soura- 
vieffs cheeks. She looked down at the carpet, which she 
was tapping softly with her foot. Her feet were small and 
well shaped, and her shoes always fitted perfectly. 

•‘Do you consider me a selfish woman?” she asked, 
raising her eyes suddenly. 

“ I do not pretend to understand women,” Mark replied. 
“All I am sure about in dealing with them is that one can 
never be sure of them.” 

It was not a very polite speech, but it did not seem to 
displease Madame Souravieff, who smiled. “ Actually a 
little suspicion of jealousy ? ” she asked, with lifted eye- 
brows. 

•‘ At the risk of seeming unpardonably vain, I must own 
that [ did not think you would wish me to marry.” 

He looked piqued, and the truth was that he felt so, 
although he was more than half conscious of longing for a 
release which only Madame Souravieff could give him. 

How far she read his thoughts is uncertain, for the ben- 
efit of a doubt is what no human being has ever been able 
to refuse to him or herself. But she said gently : 

“1 think you are right ; I think you don’t understand 
women. When we love, we love less selfishly than you do. 
We are wise or foolish ; it doesn’t matter, because we can’t 
help ourselves : we are made like that. I want you to be 
hajipy, I want you to be rich, and I know you well enough 
to know that you can never be happy unless you are rich.” 
She added with a deep sigh, “ And the count will live for 
ever. He will always have the gout ; but that will not 
prevent him from hobbling after my coffin when I am laid 
in my grave. He will make a point of being at the cere- 
mony j he is a great stickler for etiquette, as you know.” 


56 


MISADVE^TTURK. 


Mark shrugged liis shoulders. You really desire then 
that I should raise another barrier between us ? ” 

My friend, when we have already a stone wall between 
us which we cannot climb, it signifies very little whether 
you erect a second one beyond it or not. If there were 
any ho])e — but there is no ho])e ! Marry your heiress ; it 
is not I who shall forbid you. Only,” she added, with an 
abrupt laugh, which had a certain ring of fierceness in it, 
“do not permit yourself to fall in love with her.” 

“ 1 possess guarantees against that danger,” said Mark. 

He remained another half-hour with the woman whom 
he had once adored, and whom, perhaps, he still- loved. 
She had many qualities which were easily enough under- 
stood, but she had others which were incom])rehensible 
save to enthusiasts, and there never lived a less enthu- 
siastic man than Mark Chetwode. 

When they parted it was with the mutual knowledge 
that they would meet no more for some time to come. 
He was going to his long-deserted home, and she was 
compelled, or thought herself compelled, to remain in 
London. But they were to write to one another frequent- 
ly, and when the season should be more advanced, per- 
ha])s she might carry out that ])lan of renting his house 
from him. 

“ In the meantime,” were her last words, “ try to make 
yourself very agreeable to the heiress. You can be very 
agreeable when you please; one must do you that justice.” 

“ I suppose,” said Mark, as he walked away, “ that she 
is really unselfish. It is strange ; but it seems to be the 
truth. After all, she has common sense on her side. It 
is time to conclude a romance which has no prosj;ect of 
reaching any reasonable conclusion. Perhaps that is what 
she means, though she doesn’t like to say it in so many 
words.” 

As to Mr. Wingfield’s project, in which she had ac- 
quiesced with such surprising readiness, he did not trouble 
himself to consider it seriously. He was not a vain man ; 
he did not suppose — as they apparently did — that the 
heiress would be quite pleased to marry him if he did her 
the honor to propose to her ; moreover, such a method of 
regaining the possessions of his forefathers would have 
been repugnant to him. Not that he had any sort of 
scruple about making a marriage of convenience, but he 


MIS AD VEiVTURE, 


57 


had been brought up to regard the Blighs as his enemies ; he 
had been accustomed to hold them as in some undefined 
way responsible for the many failures of his life, and for 
his present impecunious condition. He hated the very 
sound of their name, and was convinced that he should 
hate them individually if ever he were brought into contact 
with them. 

On the following day he reached Upton Chetwodc, and 
saw for the first time the beautiful old house of which the 
exterior had been made familiar to him by photographs. 
It was undeniably a beautiful old house, dating almost 
throughout from the sixteenth century, standing (as beau- 
tiful old houses* so seldom do) upon a height, surrounded 
by lawns and flower-beds, beyond which an expanse of 
fairly well-timbered park fell gradually away to the edge 
of the chalk cliffs. But it was scarcely an inviting or 
cheerful dwelling-place for a lonely man. The lawns were 
unmown ; the flower-beds were bare ; the gravel walks 
evidently had not been weeded for a very long time ; the 
few rooms which had been opened for the reception of the 
owner were darl^ gloomy, deserted-looking, and had a 
damp, musty ^mell. As Mark stood gazing out of one of 
the mullioned windows at his shrunken territory and at 
the prospect of grey sea and sky which was discernible in 
the waning light of a chill spring evening, he shuddered 
and murmured under his breath, “ A garret in Paris would 
be better than this.” 

Dinner was served for him presently in the great silent 
dining-room, and a very bad dinner it was. He had 
engaged no servants ; the old couple who, with their daugh- 
ter, had been living in the house since the departure of the 
last tenant, would, he presumed, be capable of providing 
for his modest wants. His French valet waited upon him, 
and enlivened the proceedings from time to time by a 
heaVt-rending sigh. All this was bad enough, but going to 
bed was a great deal worse. It was a i)ositive fact — for 
he ascertained it by inquiry — that there was not a single 
spring mattress in the whole house; so that there was 
nothing for it but to sleep, or attempt to sleep, upon a 
feather bed. And they had put him into the best bedroom, 
which was oak-paneled and of gigantic dimensions, and 
the bedstead itself was an appalling old fourposter. 
“Same as pore Mr. Morant died in,” the old woman who 


58 


MIS A D VENTURE, 


had cooked the dinner informed him, by way of a recom- 
mendation. 

Perhaps it was because he had spent such an extremely 
wretched night that the forlorn owner of Upton Chetwode 
was able to take a slightly more cheerful view of his de- 
mesne on the following morning. When one’s spirits have 
reached the lowest attainable ebb, they must needs begin 
to flow again ; besides, sunshine makes a difference in 
everything and everybody. He did not in the least 
believe that he could reside permanently in such a place, 
but he thought he might be able to put up with it for a 
time, and that by laying out a little money upon it (though 
where the money was to come from he coyldn’t imagine ) 
he might render it attractive enough to tempt a tenant of 
retiring tastes ; and he felt a certain languid curiosity to 
make acquaintance with the details of English country 
life. It would at least be a new experience, if not a particu- 
larly exciting one. So he roamed over the house and the 
gardens, and had interviews with the few dependants 
whose services he had been compelled to retain, and he 
gave an order or two, and wrote some letters and listened 
to a great many complaints, the nature of which he scarce- 
ly understood, and thus the day passed away more 
quickly than might have been anticipated. It was already 
evening when he set out to walk seawards, thinking that 
])erhaps he would pursue his explorations as far as the 
village of Abbotsport, which he had been given to under- 
stand might be reached by a zig-zag pathway cut in the 
face of the cliff. 

Now it came to pass that while he was wandering along 
the confines of his domain in search of this path he 
encountered a little old lady who was hurrying from 
another point of the compass towards the same destination, 
and who appeared to be much perturbed by the sight of 
him. She started, threw up her hands nervously and ♦fal- 
tered out, ‘‘ Oh, I’m afraid I’m trespassing.” 

Mark took off his hat. “ You are very welcome, madam,” 
he replied, smiling. 

In acknowledgment of this civility, the old lady made 
an antiquated bow, which was almost a curtsey. “ I 
think,” she said, “you must be Mr. Chetwode.” And 
when he had admitted his identity she added, “ We did 
not know that you were expected here so soon \ otherwise, 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


59 


I should not have ventured to take this liberty. The truth 
is that I have been calling at the Rectory, and was on my 
way to the village. This is a short cut which poor Mr. 
Morant kindly gave us permission to use.” 

“You w'ill confer a favor on me if you will continue to 
use it,” Mark declared. “ This neighborhood does not 
appear to be densely populated, and I presume that the 
permission was not given to an unlimited number of 
persons.” 

“ Oh, dear, no ! ” returned the old lady, looking a little 
shocked at such an idea. “We ourselves very seldom 
took advantage of it. This afternoon I was rather in a 
hurry to get to Abbotsport, because I was anxious about 
my niece who has gone out sailing. The wind, you see, 
has changed, and Mr. Lowndes says we may expect a gale ; 
and sometimes it is impossible for boats to enter the har- 
bor. Oh, dear, what a pity it is that young people will be 
so careless and thoughtless ! ” 

“ I don’t think we are going to have a gale,” said Mark, 
to comfort her, though in truth he was no judge of such 
matters. “ But I can quite understand your anxiety. I 
myself am bound for the village ; perhaps you will kindly 
permit me to accompany you, and will show me the way.” 

Miss Skipwith thought him a very pleasant-mannered 
young man, and assented graciously; but when she told 
him who she was, a change came over his face which she 
could not help noticing. 

“Oh,” she exclaimed breathlessly, “perhaps I ought to 
have mentioned my name before. 1 am afraid — but really 
that is a great mistake — that you think J^Ir. Bligh has taken 
your property from you ” 

“ I may be mistaken, but I was certainly under the im- 
pression that the property had passed into Mr. Bligh’s 
hands,” said Mark, with a rather grim smile. 

“ Yes, but then, you know, it was paid for ; and besides, 
it was not Wilfrid but his father who foreclosed — if that is 
the right word to use. It does seem so sad and so unne- 
cessary that there should be any bad feeling about it. 
Only the other day Cicely was saying that they would be 
delighted to let you buy the land back if you wished. Of 
course it isn’t in her hands yet, and perhaps never will be, 
but I am sure that neither she nor her father would ever 
be guilty of an unneighborly action.” 


6o 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


" Is Cicely your niece? ” asked Mark, who was amused 
and a little touched by the communicativeness of the 
elderly stranger. 

“ Yes, and the dearest and best girl in the world, though 
a little too fpnd of her own way. But that is only what 
might have been expected. Poor Wilfrid being so ill and 
suffering, and that dreadful son of his always absent, a 
great deal has devolved upon Cicely which other girls of 
her age would naturally have been spared. Just now lam 
in a good deal of trouble and perplexity about her. But 
I must really apologize for speaking to you about family 
affairs, which of course can’t interest you.” 

They would interest me very much indeed if you will 
tell me about them,” answered Mark, smothering an incli- 
nation to laugh. “ Please go on.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

CICELY IS INTERESTED. 

Everybody who knew Miss Skipwith at all well agreed that 
she was a goose ; and the general verdict was i)robably 
correct. Nevertheless, geese sometimes accomplish what 
wise persons might attempt in vain, and foolish old Miss 
Skipwith succeeded without any difficulty in breaking 
down the barrier of hostility which Mark Chetwode had 
conceived against all who dwelt at the Priory. She did 
not indeed persuade him that he had no grievance, but 
she conveyed to him the impression that the pr-esent holder 
of estates which had belonged for centuries to the Chet- 
wode family was as innocent a sinner as Louis XVI., and 
she made him feel that his quarrel was rather with circum- 
stances than with individuals. She interested him, too, by 
what she told him about her nephew and niece. She led 
the way down the zig-zag path, talking volubly the whole 
time, and pausing every now and then to glance over her 
shoulder, while she laid bare her simple hopes and fears. 

Morton Bligh was a dreadful man — a man who had 
openly avowed his disbelief in revealed religion, and who 
had, besides, all his life long deliberately and persistently 
neglected the duties imposed upon him by birth. It would 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


6t 


l)e as a dcalamity for Al)])otsport if ever Morton were to 
succeed liis fallRU'. 

•• He cares nothing for the place. I dou])t if he would 
ever live there. All he would do would be to exact every 
penny of rent that was due to him, and laugh if he were 
told that any of his tenants in the village were starving. 
With Cicely it would be very different; she loves the 
people and they love her. 1 don’t say that she wouldn’t 
make mistakes, because she is very young and headstrong, 
but at least her mistakes would be upon the right side.” 

“ Possibly,” said Mark, “ Mr. Bligh may be aware of 
all this, and may dispose of his property accordingly.” 

Miss Skipwith sighed. “ Of course he is aware of it,” 
she answered, ‘‘ but Wilfrid also is headstrong in his own 
way ; nobody can dictate to him. Pfe will do what he 
thinks right ; and just now, I am afraid, he does not think 
it would be right to pass over his son. Morton, knowing 
how ill his father is, has come down here to show how well 
he can behave. Unfortunately he has few opportunities 
of behaving badly in a place such as this. Still, he is very 
rude and disagreeable : that, I suppose, he can’t help 
being.” 

“ 1 think,” said Mark, smiling, “ that the young lady’s 
chances look })romising.” 

Ah, but there are complications. She has a cousin, an 
officer in a cavalry regiment, whom my brother-in-law has 
virtually adopted, and who is at present staying with us on 
leave. 1 daresay you can guess what /u's ambition is : and 
the worst of it is that Wilfrid is quite inclined to encourage 
him. Wilfrid is like most men ; he can’t believe that a 
woman can safely be entrusted with authority ; and though 
he has never said so, I know perfectly well that nothing 
would please him more than to see Archie married to 
Cicely, d'hen, 1 think, he would probably make Archie 
his heir.” 

“ And would that be such a very bad arrangement? ” 

“ First-cousin marriages are always a bad arrangement,” 
said Miss Skipwith, decisively ; “ but setting that aside, the 
arrangement would be bad because it would make Cicely 
unhappy. She has always been accustomed to rule ; she 
wouldn’t understand how to play second fiddle. I would 
rather that she had to leave Abbotsport altogether than 
she should remain here in a subordinate })osition. Added 


62 


MISADVENTURE. 


' to \yhich, I don’t sec why that young mnii should have 
everything his own way.' It isn’t as it he were worthy to 
tie Cicely’s slioe-strings.” 

W'liat does she lierself think about it } ” Mark inquired. 

In England that is always an important (juestion, 1 
believe.” 

Miss Skipwith replied that that was, no doubt, a very 
important question, but that she was unable to answer it. 
Alt she knew was tliat Cicely seemed to like being with 
him, and that they were together a great deal more than 
she, for her part, thought desirable or even ])roper. “ But 
people’s ideas have changed so much since I was young,” 
she added sorrowful ])'. “ This very afternoon they have 

gone out in a boat together which in former times would 
have been considered quite an impossible thing to do. 
To be sure they have a third person with them — a young 
Mr. Dare, who lives near this — but even so I can’t think it 
right. And now if there is too much sea for them to get 
into the harbor they may be out half the night, for any- 
thing that we can do to prevent it.” 

It appeared, indeed, that Miss Skipwith was far more 
disquieted upon the score of propriety than upon that of 
physical risk ; and this surprised her companion, because 
the nearer he drew to the sea the more he became aware 
that dirty weather was setting in. When they had passed 
down the steep, narrow street of the village and had 
reached the jetty, they found themselves in the midst of a 
group of experienced persons who were unanimously of 
opinion that the lugger which could be seen running 
before the wind towards the harbor’s mouth was attempting 
a hazardous feat. It was now blowing something like 
half a gale, and the entrance of the harbor, which lay 
between the wooden jetty and the concrete breakwater, 
was marked by an ugly white line of foam where the waves 
curled and struck. 

“ Will they be able to get in ? ” asked Miss Skipwith 
anxiously of an ancient mariner in a sou’-wester. 

“ As much as they will, mum,” answered the man. 
“ You may say there is room, but you can’t say no more. 
Oh, you ain’t no call to be afeard, mum ; they won’t be 
drownded, though they might get a wetting. We’ll get 
’em ashore safe enough. But with the boat, you see, ’tis 
different. Once she gets upon that there bar she’ll go to 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


63 

pieces for certain. ’Tis wrong to make light of other 
men’s property in that way, and Coppard ought to have 
known a deal better than to do such things.” 

“ Oh, if that is all, I am sure Mr. Bligh will be only too 
happy to pay for the boat,” ^liss Skipwith declared 
confidently. 

Meanwhile the lugger was approaching her destination 
at a great rate of speed. Presently, the forms and features 
of all those who were on board were clearly discernible. 
Bobby Dare, with the tiller in his hand, was standing up, 
his keen eyes fixed upon the' water ahead; Coppard, hold- 
ing the sheet, was ready to lower the sail at the word of 
command ; and it is a pity that neither Miss Skipwith nor 
Mark Chetwode possessed knowledge enough of seaman- 
ship to aj^preciate a manceiivre which elicited murmurs of 
admiration from their better instructed neighbors. How- 
ever, when once a thing has been done everyone sees how 
easy it was to do it, and as soon as the Rover had been 
brought alongside of the landing-steps, her handiness 
obtained more praise than Mr. Dare’s skill. “ Told ’ee so, 
mum,” grunted the fisherman in the sou’-wester (who had 
done nothing of the sort). “Bless yer ’eart, with a craft 
like that there a child could make this ’arbor at any tide 
and in any weather.” 

Miss Skipwith said, “ Really ? Well, I am very glad to 
hear it, I’m sure : it looks to me dreadfully dangerous.” 

She picked her way gingerly down the slippery steps, 
and began to administer one of the mild remonstrances to 
her niece which she ventured upon from time to time, much 
as a man across whose land a right of way has been 
established will close his gates once a year, in formal 
assertion of a privilege which has practically ceased to be 
his. “My dear Cicely,” she exclaimed, “what a fright 
you have given us ; you really should think a little more 
of what you are doing, and, and — and of other people’s 
feelings. You, I daresay, would have thought it very 
good fun to be kept out at sea half through the night, but 
it would not have been at all good fun either for your 
father or for me to be left for hours in uncertainty as to 
whether you were alive or dead.' I should have thought,” 
added the old lady severely, “ that Mr. Archibald might 
have remembered that, even if you forgot it.” 

When Miss Skipwith wished to be especially impressive 


64 


MISADVENTURE, 


it was her habit to speak of Archie as Mr. Archibald. She 
was perhaps aware that the designation irritated him. 

“ Well, we haven’t remained out half through the night, 
you see, Aunt Susan,” said Cicely, composedly ; “ so that 
there is no occasion to blame anybody. At all events, it 
would be most unjust to blame poor Archie, because 
nobody could have been more anxious than he was to get 
into harbor again. In fact, he simply insisted upon our 
risking our lives to do it.” 

Having thus, as it were, fired right and left with effect, 
Miss Bligh proceeded to disembark. Declining the prof- 
fered assistance of her two admirers, she laid her hand 
for an instant upon the shoulder of old Coppard, who was 
clinging to the jetty with his boat-hook, and sprang lightly 
out on the steps. But the steps were overgrown with 
seaweed, and so it came to pass that this self-reliant young 
lady’s foot slipped, and that she would have fallen ignobly 
upon her nose, but for a pair of arms which were oppor- 
tunely stretched out to save her. These she instinctively 
clutched until she had recovered her balance, when she. 
became aware that they belonged to a young man whom 
she had never seen before, and who took off his hat, which 
he held for a moment in his hand, instead of at once 
replacing it after the English fashion. “ I beg your 
pardon,” he said. 

“ It is I who ought to beg yours,” answered Cicely, 
laughing. “ I wonder I didn’t knock you down.” 

Cicely did not know the meaning of the word shyness. 
She was as much at her ease with a total stranger as with 
an intimate friend, and this was one of her idiosyncrasies 
which her aunt never quite knew whether to admire or to 
deprecate. 

Cicely, my dear,” said the old lady, “ let me introduce 
Mr. Chetwode, of whom you have often heard your father 
speak. Mr. Chetwode very kindly gave me permission to 
walk through his grounds just now.” 

The young man’s hat was once more raised, while Cicely 
bestowed a little bow and a scrutinizing gaze upon him. 

She was much interested in the owner of Upton Chet- 
wode, and had felt no slight anxiety to see what manner of 
man he was. Her first impression — and, like all women, 
she attached great importance to first impressions — was 
decidedly favorable. Handsome he could hardly be 


MISAD VENTURE. 


65 


called ; perhaps too, on closer inspection, his face was 
somewhat older than his figure; but he had undoubtedly 
the appearance of a gentleman, and what was better still 
was that he had not at all the appearance of an ordinary 
English gentleman. His colorless, expressionless face 
invited interrogation. All sorts of things might be hidden 
behind that seemingly impenetrable mask, which a young 
woman of inquiring bent might find amusement in calling 
forth. It is even possible that, without being aware of it. 
Miss Bligh may have been a trifle piqued by the absence 
of that tribute of frank admiration which she was accus- 
tomed to detect in the eyes of all men and to accept as her 
due. 

“ So you have come home at last,” she said. 

He shrugged his shoulders slightly. “ Eve come to my 
house,’' he replied. ‘‘At present I can’t say that I feel 
very much at home there.” 

He spoke with just the faintest suspicion of a foreign 
accent, and Cicely noticed that his boots and gloves (had 
he any business to be wearing gloves at all ? ) were not of 
English make, although the rest of his costume was. 

‘ Oh, but you must learn to feel at home here,” she 
declared. “ Aren’t you proud of being an Englishman ? 
You ought to be, you know.” 

“ I will try to be as proud as I ought to be,” he answered 
gravely, “ if you will kindly tell me the way to set about 
it. How should one begin ? ” 

During the above interchange of remarks the whole 
party had been moving along the jetty, and it now occurred 
to Cicely that conversation might be carried on with less 
risk of .interruption if one member of it were got rid of. 
Accordingly she turned round and extended her hand to 
the selected victim, saying, “ Good-night, Bobby, and 
many thanks for the sail. Don’t forget to give my love to 
your sisters.” 

“ Oh, I’ll walk part of the way home with you, if you 
don’t mind,” said poor Bobby, who was in no such hurry 
to be dismissed. 

“ ]^ut I do mind very much indeed; and Sir George 
will mind very much indeed if you are late for dinner. Do 
you know what time it is ? , You will only just save your- 
self, even if you run.” 

Now Sir George Dare, who never waited dinner for 


66 


MISADVENTURE, 


anybody, would assuredly not have dreamt of waiting for 
this young son of his ; but Bobby was too completely 
under the sway of the imperious Cicely to dispute her 
commands. He took his leave sadly and submissively ; 
and then she observed, ‘‘ As for you, Mr. Chetwode, your 
way is the same as ours, for some little distance at all 
events.” 

“Indeed!” he said; “that is very fortunate forme.” 
But he did not speak as if he felt her Companionship to be 
any great privilege, and she glanced at him with an inno- 
cent surprise at his indifference which almost made him 
laugh. 

“ Now tell me,” said he, to account for tlie smile which 
he could not altogether suppress, “how I am to convert 
myself into a good John Bull. Will it be easy, do you 
think?” • ‘ 

She frowned slightly. “ Of course it will not be easy,” 
she answered, “if you prefer being a foreigner; but really 
that seems to me a very odd sort of taste to have. Because, 
you see, you are an Englishman.” 

“ More or less of one.” 

“ Why, your family is English ; everybody belongs to 
his father’s family. I know you have been brought up in 
Russia, but that’s only an accident. You wouldn’t have 
been a cannibal if you had been brought up in the Fiji 
Islands, I hope.” 

“ I venture to hope not. Still there is no saying to what 
lengths one may be carried by the influence of early asso- 
ciations. I have no reason to love England, whereas I 
have — or at least I suppose I ought to have — many reasons 
for loving Russia, where most of my friends and all my 
relations reside.” 

“ Well,” said Cecily, with fine liberality, “ there is some- 
thing in that, no doubt. At the same time, I shouldn’t 
care to be neither the one thing nor the other, if I were 
you. Being English, and having property in England, I 
should wish to live on my property and do the best I could 
for it. And most likely that is just what you do wish, or 
you wouldn’t have come home.” 

Mark’s grave face was lighted up for an instant by a 
smile, and he glanced at the girl with more interest than 
he had hitherto displayed in her. 

“ Possibly you are right,” he answered ; “ possibly that 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


67 


is what I want, but really I am not very sure about it. My 
property, as ypu know, has shrunk to such small dimensions 
that I should -liardly find employment in looking after it, 
and my actual reason for coming here was the very simple 
one that an empty house is too expensive a luxury for me.” 

“ You might quite well live here without being at home 
all the year round,” said the girl, “and as for employment, 
a country gentleman need never be without that.” 

And straight way she began to point out to him how he 
might occupy his time agreeably to himself and profitably 
to his neighbors. She had not the most distant compre- 
hension of the nian to whom she was talking ; her ideas of 
life and happiness and duty were necessarily circumscribed, 
but she had perfect confidence in their accuracy, and, such 
as they were, she expressed them well. As for Mark, he 
was not particularly interested in her ideas, but he became 
a good deal interested in her, and it was with unaffected 
regret that he wished her good-bye on being informed that 
the point at which their paths diverged had been reached. 
He did not, however, offer to walk any further than that 
point, nor did he respond, save by an inarticulate murmur, 
to Miss Bligh’ s expressed hope that they might meet again 
before long. 

“ I think he is rather queer, and rather nice,” was the 
verdict which his unusual behavior elicited from Cicely 
after he had withdrawn. 

But Archie, who during all this time had been relegated 
to the background, and whose temper had not been im- 
proved by the enforced society of Miss Skipwith, said : 

“ I don’t know so much about his. being nice ; he’s 
queer enough for anything. One can forgive a Frenchman 
for trying to look like an Englishman, though of course he 
never succeeds ; but there must be something very wrong 
indeed about an Englishman who tries to look like a French- 
man — especially when he does succeed.” 

“ Oh, I daresay he will learn better things in time,” 
answered Cicely. “ In fact,” she added demurely, “ I feel 
sure he will, because I mean to take him in hand.” 

And the disgusted grunt with which this announcement 
was received was doubtless a source of amusement and 
gratification to her. 


68 


MISADVENTURE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

MORTON REPRESENTS THE FAMILY. 

It seemed that Miss Skipwith could not say enough in 
praise of Mr. Chetwode that evening. He was clever, he 
was distinguished, he had a singular charm of manner ; 
she had not for a long time met any one who had impressed 
her with a sense of his superiority to the common run of 
men. She prattled on in this way both before and in the 
course of dinner ; and her brother-in-law could not imagine 
why, until it dawned upon him that this artless schemer 
proposed to set the new-comer up as a counter attraction 
to Archie. That discovery tickled him, and he led her on 
by a few careless, disparaging observations, which event- 
ually had the effect of drawing his daughter into the 
arena. 

“He may not be such a black swan as Aunt Susan 
makes him out ; but at all events he is our nearest neigh- 
bor, and of course he must be called upon,” said Cicely, 
decidedly. 

“ It is always comforting to have one’s duty set before 
one in such plain language,” remarked Mr. Bligh. “ The 
only question is, who is to call upon him ? / can’t, 

because I have no legs ; and I’m afraid conventionality 
would hardly allow of your doing it, my dear. Would the 
emergency be met by my sending a groom over with my 
card, do you think ? ” 

Cicely shook her head. 

“ Much too formal,” said she. “ He wouldn’t like it ; 
he would take it as an intimation that you were willing to 
acknowledge him, but didn’t care about cultivating him.” 

“ Do I care about cultivating him ? ” inquired Mr. 
Bligh. 

“ You know you do,” replied his daughter, tranquilly ; 
“you know you are unhappy In your mind about that 
land of his, and you would like to have a chance of 
explaining to him that it isn’t your fault that you are in 
possession of it,’* 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


69 


“ If I know myself,” said Mr. Bligh— ‘‘ but possibly I 
don’t know myself — that is quite the last subject which I 
should wish to discuss with him. My title, I am assured, 
is a perfectly good title, legitimately acquired. If he 
thinks differently he can go to law al)out it ; but I doubt 
whether he and 1 should become better friends by talking 
the matter over.” 

“ Oh, you will talk the matter over,” said Cicely, con- 
fidently. ‘‘ He has taken up a wrong view of it, and you 
will have to set him right. Only there is a little difficulty 
about the first step, I admit. How would it do to write 
and ask him to dine ? ” 

“ I should not venture to take such a liberty,” Mr. Bligh 
declared ; and Miss Skipwith, who was very punctilious, 
was also of opinion that that suggestion was inadmissible. 

“ My dear,” said she, “ there must be a visit, and the 
visit must be returned, before any invitation can be sent.” 

“Well, then,” said Cicely, “perhaps Archie might go, 
and take papa’s card with him.” 

Archie looked recalcitrant; but before he could open 
his lips Morton had thrown himself into the breach. 

“ It seems to me,” observed the latter languidly, “ that 
I am marked out by fate as the proper person to under- 
take this act of social servitude. At what time do you 
suppose that your friend goes out for a walk. Cicely? At 
four o’clock ? ” 

Cicely looked doubtfully at her brother. She could 
hardly dispute his right to represent the head of the family, 
but she was pretty sure that he did not entertain the 
friendly and neighborly sentiments of the head of the fam- 
ily, and she thought it very likely that he would be rude 
to Mr. Chetwode. 

“ I know nothing about his habits,” she said ; “ but I 
hope he may be out when you call.” 

“ d'hanks, very much ; so do I. Perhaps you hope that 
for his sake, though, not for mine.” 

“ Well, for your sake, and for his sake, and for every- 
body’s sake. I don’t think you would get on particularly 
well together, and I want him to like us.” 

For some reason or other this remark appeared to 
amuse Morton, who began to laugh, and who laughed even 
more heartily when he noticed the frown on Archie’s brow. 

“ Oh, you needn’t be afraid,” he returned ; “ he shall 


MISADT^ENTURE. 


7d 

like us. Not me as an individual, perhaps — that would 
be a little too much to hope for — but he shall like us col- 
lectively, and when he has dined here I have no doubt 
that he will like you in jDarticular. That, however, will 
naturally depend upon yourself. As for me, I will put on 
my best clothes and my best manners to-morrow afternoon, 
and I humbly trust that I may not disgrace the family.” 

Morton was as good as his word. After luncheon on 
the following day he set out on foot for Upton Chetwode, 
much though he disliked pedestrian exercise. There was, 
however, one thing that he disliked evep more, which was 
getting upon the back of a horse ; and Miss Skipwith had 
appropriated the carriage. For that matter, the walk was 
not a disagreeble one, being over grass or footpaths the 
whole way, and he had plenty of interesting reflections to 
keep him company. 

Since his arrival at the Priory J^Iorton Bligh had been 
somewhat dejected in mind. His presence under his 
father’s roof was, of course, due to a motive which every- 
body had divined, and which he himself had decided that 
it would be stupid and clumsy to conceal. His father was 
going to die ; he was his father’s natural and legitimate 
heir, and it was necessary for him to show that, whatever 
he might be, or have been, he could live an outwardly 
decent and respectable life. It was necessary, he thought, 
for him to do this, because he believed his father to be one 
of those scrupulous persons who always set duty above 
inclination, and because he could form a tolerably shrewd 
guess what Mr. Bligh’s inclinations were. But his father’s 
demeanor had puzzled him. Mr. Bligh had been perfectly 
good-humored, tolerant and amiable, had not repulsed him,” 
nor made the faintest allusion to incidents which could not 
have been alluded to without embarrassment ; yet not a 
word had been spoken as to the management of the pro- 
pertyj or as to any of the topics to which a dying man 
might be expected to refer in conversation with his suc- 
cessor. It was plain — or so, at all events, Morton feared 
— that the dying man’s will had not yet been signed. Now 
there was very little probability that Cicely would be 
placed in her brother’s shoes. One does not replace a son 
by a daughter, and Morton himself had a contempt for 
women which he suspected his father of sharing to a con- 
siderable extent. But doubtless a nephew who has mar- 


MIS AD VEiVTUKE. 


71 


ried your only daughter and who bears your own name 
may, at a pinch, be made to do duty for a son who has 
been weighed in the balance and found wanting. This 
was what troubled Morton. He saw, and could not help 
seeing — even Miss Skipwith saw it — that Archie was 
receiving every encouragement to propose to Cicely ; he 
saw, what perhaps Miss Skipwith was too blinded by pre- 
judice to see, that the young soldier had fallen desperately 
in love with his cousin ; and, for his own part, he was only 
too well aware that nobody would pity him if he were to 
receive a substantial money legacy instead of his birth- 
right. 

His record, in truth, was shockingly bad. It was not 
only that he had led a life of idle dissipation, and that his 
debts had had to be paid for him more than once ; it was 
not only that he had gone his own way, taking no notice 
of his father and sister, and never so much as writing a letter 
to them from year’s end to year’s end ; these are offences 
which may be pardoned. But (being by no means devoid 
of brains, and having a certain mischievous bent of mind) 
he had at one time amused himself by reading up the in- 
dictments which have been brought by learned men against 
accepted systems of theology, and though he was in reality 
no scholar, he had written articles in advanced reviews 
which had gained for him a certain notoriety. That had 
been a great mistake, and he was very sorry now that he 
had committed it, because, as a matter of fact, he did not 
care two straws what mankind at large might be pleased 
to believe in and worship. However, there it was in black 
and white, and there was no getting out of it. Worse 
things, moreover, than that might be said of him. London 
society in these days has not the name of being over- 
squeamish ; yet there were many men and many women 
in London who would not be seen speaking to Morton 
Bligh. 

And so the long and the short of it was, that if by any 
means Cicely could be prevented from marrying Archie, 
tliat end must be accomplished. Therefore Morton was 
on his way to call upon Mark Chetwode, in whom he had 
observed with satisfaction that his sister’s interest had 
been powerfully aroused. Archie, it might be assumed, 
would not be made Mr. Bligh’s heir if he did not marry 
Cicely; Mark Chetwode would surely not be raised to 


72 


JlIISAD VENTURE, 


that enviable position if he did. And Chetvvode was poor, 
and Cicely was not only pretty but . would have a fortune 
of thirty or forty thousand pounds at least. 

The solitary denizen of Upton Chetwode was smoking a 
cigarette in his comfortless dining-room when his visitor 
was announced. After a somewhat formal greeting, he 
expressed a hope that the latter did not mind the smell of 
tobacco, to which Morton replied that he would be grate- 
ful if he too might be allowed to smoke. 

A man who will smoke with you is by that very fact to 
some extent a companionable creature, and Morton’s man- 
ners were pleasant enough when he took the trouble to 
make them so. Mark rather liked the man, though (as 
he was accustomed to scrutinize men and motives) it did 
not take him very long to discover that there was some 
unavowed reason for this display of neighborly courtesy. 
Morton, it should be mentioned, had deplorable nerves. 
Without being precisely a glutton or a sot, he had never- 
theless for many years habitually eaten and drunk more 
than was good for him, besides having taken • very little 
exercise ; and the consequence was that when he at- 
tempted to be artful, he speedily made his aims evident to 
a practiced observer. Mark, cold, temperate, and con- 
stitutionally suspicious, was a great deal more than a 
match for him. They discussed (for what else could they 
begin by discussing ?) local topics and local means of 
passing the time ; Morton avowed his abhorrence of the 
country, and was pleased to learn that his host was no 
great lover of field sports. 

“ You’ll be bored to death down here,” he said ; “ that’s 
a matter of course. But, perhaps, if you’re inclined to be 
charitable, yoir’ll sometimes come over to the Priory and 
relieve our chronic boredom. I haven’t any inducement 
to offer you beyond a sincere welcome and the governor’s 
Madeira, which I can conscientiously praise. By the way, 
he sent you all sorts of messages and apologies. He 
would have come to pay his respects to you in person, but 
he never gets beyond the garden now, as I daresay you 
have heard from my old aunt. You have won Aunt 
Susan’s heart, I must tell you; and as for Cicely — well, I 
suppose it wouldn’t be proper to say that she has lost her 
heart to you,” laughed Morton ; “ but anyhow she is very 
anxious to see more of you. Won’t you come and dine 
quietly some evening ? ” 


M/SAB VEArTURE, 


73 


Mark said what was polite and necessary in reply. He 
began in a casual, indifferent way to put indirect ques- 
tions ; also he rang the bell, tlnd ordered brandy and 
soda, of which his guest was pleased to partake freely ; 
and so, in about twenty minutes, he found out all he 
wanted to know. That Morton was not upon the best of 
terms with his father, that he was in mortal dread of 
being ousted by his cousin Archie, and that he was only 
sojourning at the Priory now in the hope of bring- 
ing personal influence to bear against the interloper — 
all this was elicited, without eflbrt on the one side or con- 
sciousness of self-betrayal on the other, and all doubt as 
to the nature of Morton's scheme was removed when that 
ingenuous plotter remarked : — 

“ I assure you that I don't half like the idea of having 
to spend the rest of my life in this neighborhood ; but it 
will have to come to that, I expect. And I shall be all 
alone too ; for it isn't over and above likely that my sister 
will care to stay and keep house for me. She will have a 
fortune of her own — something like fifty thousand pounds, 
probably." (For Morton thought there could be no harm 
in adding a trifle of £10,000 or so to his mental estimate.) 

“Your cousin is a very good-looking young man," said 
Mark, with his faint smile, and his slight foreign accent. 
“ I should like to be your cousin." 

“ I don't call him good-looking ; and he's as stupid as 
an owl," returned Morton. “ Why should you want to 
change places with him ? " 

“ Oh, only a fancy, which perhaps it is impertinent in 
me to mention. Seeing them together, it struck me 
that he was upon terms of something more than friendship 
with your sister, that was all. So much beauty, and 
£50,000 besides — you must admit that he is enviable." 

“ I think," said Morton, wiho had swallowed two rather 
strong glasses of brandy and soda, “ that if I were ten 
years younger, and if I admired a girl with Cicely's advan- 
tages, I should be no more afraid of such a fellow as Archie 
than I should be afraid of the curate or the doctor." 

Having delivered himself of this statement with much 
impressiveness, he rose to depart. Mark's speech had 
been unquestionably impertinent — even very impertinent ; 
but Morton did not resent it. On the contrary, he was 
quite pleased to have been furnished with an opportunity 


74 


M/SAi> VENTURE, 


of asserting so unequivocally that Archie was no formid' 
able antagonist. Thus it is that the reasoning powers of 
the brain become enfeebled when the other organs of the 
body are not kept in a proper state of subjection. 

You’ll come to dinner, then, some day soon, won’t 
you ? ” he said, with a slight thickness of utterance, as he 
held out his limp little hand. “ I’ll tell Cicely to send you 
a formal invitation, though you won’t be asked to a formal 
party. I believe we do give formal dinner-parties from 
time to time, but we won’t be so brutal as to include you 
among our victims.” 

When he had gone, Mark laughed a little and walked 
once or twice up and down the room ; and then, taking 
up his pen, resumed the letter which had been interrupted 
by the entrance of the visitor. 

“It seems to me,” he wrote, “that I am in a fair way 
towards carrying out your benevolent programme. The 
brother of the young lady whom you were so kind as to 
select for my future partner through life has just been call- 
ing here, and has hinted broadly — possibly a little too 
broadly — that he would be charmed to welcome me as his 
brother-in-law. Naturally he has his reasons : he is not 
quite so disinterested as you are. He thinks that his 
father wishes to bring about a marriage between Miss 
Cicely (that, I believe, is her name) and a young cousin of 
whom old Mr. Wingfield spoke to me, and whom I forget 
whether I mentioned to you or not. In the case of that 
project succeeding, the young cousin, it seems, would be 
made heir to the entire property ; but it is not considered 
likely that any other son-in-law than the cousin would be 
preferred before the heir-apparent. Consequently I am 
implored to come forward, and a bribe of .£50,000 is offered 
to me by way of inducement. Would you believe that, poor 
as I am, I hesitate to take advantage of this generous sug- 
gestion ? I am sure you would not believe it if you saw 
Miss Bligh, who happens to be quite pretty and agreeable, 
and that it would be difficult to convince you how little her 
charms have to say to the matter. Do you think £50,000 a 
very large sum of money ? In all truth and candor, I think 
liberty is worth more than that ; but I am aware that upon 
such points your ideas differ from mine.” 

Having wound up his letter, and addressed it to Madame 
SoLiravieff, he put on his hat and walked down to the iron 


MISADVENTURE. 


75 


railing which divided the garden from the park. Upon 
this he dropped his arms, and so stood for a long time, 
revolving many considerations in his mind. It was quite 
true that a bribe of £50,000 hardly tempted him, welcome 
though such a supply of hard cash would have been to a 
man in his straitened circumstances ; it was also true that 
Cicely’s personal attractions had left him cold. If you 
are notin love with a woman, what can it signify whether 
she is pretty or ugly? But there was one thing he cared 
about a good deal, and always rather wondered at himself 
for caring about, which was the recovering of the lands of 
which he considered that he had been wrongfully dis- 
possessed. No one can relinquish without something of a 
pang and a wrench the religious faith in which he has been 
brought up; and in much the same way Mark Chetwode 
found it impossible to free himself from the impressions 
which had been dinned into his ears from his earliest child- 
hood. Legally speaking, he might have no sort of case 
against these prosperous, wealthy, condescending Blighs, 
but he could not help longing to be avenged upon them, 
to get the better of them; and if this desire could not be 
satisfied in one way, perhaps it might be in another. To 
get the better of the debilitated creature who had just left 
him would surely be a task of no great difficulty ; and as 
to the cousin, he appeared to be a very commonplace 
person. There remained Mr. Bligh, with whom, of course, 
it would be needful to ingratiate oneself ; but as far as 
could be gathered from report, Mr. Bligh was only too 
eager to find some heir who might decently be substituted 
for his son. Was the stake worth playing for? Mark 
eventually decided that it was ; and, oddly enough, what 
.helped him towards this decision was hi§ conviction that 
if ever syccess should seem to be within his reach, he 
would have no more vehement opponent to contend 
against than Madame Souravieff. 


76 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


CHAPTER X. 

CICELY HAS POOR SPORT. 

In these days, hunting ladies are so numerous that it is 
scarcely more necessary to apologize for them than George 
III. thought it necessary to write an apology for the Bible. 
Nevertheless, there still remain certain old-fashioned 
people who think that a woman is out of her place in the 
hunting-field, and of these Miss Skipwith was one. She 
had never felt able to approve of her niece following the 
hounds, and although she had never been able to prevent 
her niece from doing that, or anything else which the self- 
willed young woman in question intended to do, she con- 
sidered herself bound to uphold her testimony from time 
to time — that is, as often as the hounds met within man- 
ageable distance of the Priory. And it is needless to add 
that the escort of Archie Bligh did not present itself to her 
in the light of a mitigating circumstance. But what could 
she do when the girl’s own father backed her up, and 
refused to see the slightest impropriety in her enjoying 
what he called a “good healthy gallop ” in the company 
of her cousin? Mr. Bligh had himself been an ardent 
sportsman until his health had broken down ; he had per- 
haps a somewhat exaggerated admiration for the virtues 
which sport, combined with a spice of danger, brings into 
prominence; and possibly he did not sufficiently recognize 
that, although bravery may be a very fine thing, the kind 
of bravery which life demands of women is of a very dif- 
ferent class from that which it demands of men. 

And so, when the hounds met at Upton Mill, it was 
altogether useless for Miss Skipwith to try and defraud 
Cicely and Archie of a happy day. 

“ My dear Susan,” said Mr. Bligh, in response to certain 
oft -repeated remonstrances of hers, “ they mean to be 
there, and it is my belief that neither you. nor I can hold 
them back by anything short of hamstringing every horse 
in the stables; to which I am not prepared to consent. 


M/s A D VENTURE. 


77 


You need not be so alarmed ; they won’t come to any 
harm. One is only young for a few years, and during 
these few years wise young people make the most of their 
time.” 

“ You speak as if we were only here to amuse ourselves, 
Wilfrid,” said Miss Skipwith, in a dissatisfied tone of 
voice. 

“Do I ? I have never been able to discover exactly 
what we are here for; and, with all due deference, I doubt 
whether you can tell me. But one thing I know : we are 
born with certain cravings which are bound to be satisfied 
in this way or in that ; and for my part I have always been 
.strongly on the side of physical exertion and exhaustion. 
You think perhaps that a young man and a young .woman 
who go out hunting together are like a young man and a 
young woman in a ball-room ; but then you have never 
hunted. I am going to put Archie up on the flying Dutch- 
man, and I know what that means, though you don’t. 
When once hounds are running he will forget all about 
Cicely, and what is better still. Cicely, who is going to 
ride Hypatia, will forget all about him. Ah, if I could 
only have one more day with them — just one more before 
I die ! ” 

Perceiving that it was a waste of time to reason with a 
man who could talk in that way. Miss Skipwith sighed 
and gave in, and kept her own opinion, as usual ; and one 
fine morning Archie and Cicely trotted off to the meet, 
without let or hindrance. Morton declined to accompany 
them, owning with his customarv frankness that he had no 
longer nerve to hunt. 

“ I have only one neck,” he said, “ and nothing would 
annoy me more than to break it. However, I wouldn’t 
for the world deter you from breaking yours.” And this 
was as true and honest an assertion as any assertion could 
be. 

Hunting had already ceased in many parts of England, 
but that was a late country. 

“ We go on up to the last permissible moment,” Cicely 
informed her companion, “ and begin again at the $rst. 
The worst of it is that I can’t hunt at all regularly now, 
because it isn’t thought right for me to go out quite alone.” 

“ Well, I’ll be here as much and as often as I can,” 
Archie replied. 


78 


MISADVENTURE. 


“Thank you ; that is very kind of you. But you must 
please to remember that when you are here your duty will 
be simply to escort me to the meet. From the moment 
we have found you will cease to have any lesponsibility, 
and you will only think of your own interests. I am very 
well able to take care of myself, and if I catch you attempt- 
ing to take care of me I will never forgive you. Mind 
that.” 

Archie laughed and said : “ All right, then ; I quite 
understand.” 

He was very well pleased with his mount — a powerful, 
free-going grey ; but as he had never ridden the horse 
before, he could not be aware, as his uncle was, that he 
was bestriding one of the best hunters that ever was bred, 
and he fully intended to keep an eye upon his cousin, even 
though this should prove to his own detriment. Cicely’s 
chestnut mare was an animal of quite another class — 
nervous, high couraged and requiring a light hand and a 
good deal of riding ; but Cicely was an accomplished horse- 
woman. 

“ The mare will be all right after the first few minutes,” 
she said, in reply to some expression of uneasiness on 
Archie’s part. “ Unless something upsets her at starting 
she will be as good as gold. You needn^ trouble your 
head about her — or about me either.” 

But of course he could not help troubling his head about 
her, and although he admired her seat and her hands, he 
was vexed and surprised that his uncle should have given 
her sueh a mount. As a matter of fact, Mr. Bligh, who 
did not himself know the meaning of the word fear, had 
perfect confidence in Cicely’s skill, and would have trusted 
her with any horse in his stables. 

At the meet, which was in a central locality, a great 
concourse of people was assembled. There was young 
Lord Shoreham, the M.F.H., whose language was apt to 
be more emphatic than choice, and of whom everybody 
stood in awe ; there was Sir George Dare, a ruddy-cheeked, 
white-whiskered gentleman, with a good-humored smile, 
and a high, squeaky voice ; there, too, was Bobby, looking 
somewhat ill-at-case upon the fiddle-headed, raw-boned 
steed which had been assigned to him. Bobby was not at 
all fond of hunting, and every time he went out he did so 
with the full assurance that he carried his life in his hands. 


ms AD VEiVTC'DE. 


79 


That risk, however, he was always willing, like a true-born 
British sailor, to accept, and he was now about to imperil 
his neck with more or less of cheerfulness upon the off- 
chance of earning Cicely’s approval. He rode up to her 
side as soon as she appeared upon the scene, although, 
while according him a smiling greeting, she warned him 
not to approach too closely. 

‘‘ Keep clear of the mare’s heels,” she said, as, notwith- 
standing her signal, he drew nearer ; “ otherwise you may 
get a broken leg before you know where you are.” 

But Bobby, who thought he was in much more danger 
of getting a broken heart, chose to disregard this caution. 
His father had engaged Archie in conversation, so that 
presently he had the privilege of riding with Miss Bligh to 
the covert-side, and hearing from her own lips that she 
did not want to have anything mo>e to do with her cousin. 

“ I know that he is possessed with the idea that he is in 
charge of me,” she said ; and I am sure he will keep 
looking over his shoulder the whole time — which will 
exasperate me beyond all bearing. Considering that I 
know every yard of the country, and that he hasn’t 
ridden over it since he was a boy of sixteen, I really think 
he would do more wisely to mind his own business, and 
leave me to mind mine.” 

Bobby cordially concurred. At the same time he did 
not quite like the look of Cicely’s plunging, bucking mare, 
and he said with a sigh : I wish I were capable of taking 
charge of you ; but it is as much as I shall accomplish to 
make this brute of mine answer his helm, even if we don’t 
part company altogether, as I daresay we shall before 
long.” He added, in a melancholy voice : “ I sup})Ose 
you utterly despise a man who can’t ride, don’t you?” 

Now it was true that Cicely thought every man ought to 
be able to manage a horse. Sailors, no doubt, are to some 
extent privileged persons, yat she could not help finding 
any human being who held on by his reins a' trifle ridiculous, 
and poor Bobby would perhaps have been better advised 
if he had remained at home that morning. Therefore she 
left, his question unanswered, and after a time lie put 
another one to her : Are cavalry men always flyers across 
a country? ” he inquired diffidently. 

“ Really, I can’t tell you,” she answered, laughing ; ‘‘ but 
T don’t know why they should be. If Archie sees more of 


8o 


MISADVENTURE. 


the run than you or I do, he won’t have much to brag 
about. The Dutchman will ask nothing more of him than 
to stick to his saddle.” 

Bobby was by no means confident of his own capacity 
to comply even with that modest requirement ; but he was 
pleased to hear himself bracketed with Cicely, and he 
resolved to keep alongside of her if he could. That, how- 
ever, was a programme which he probably could not, 
under any circumstances, have carried out, and, as it 
chanced, he had lost sight of her almost immediately after 
deciding upon it. For scarcely had the covert been drawn 
when a fox was found and got away, and for ten minutes 
after that event all control over his own movements was 
taken out of the young sailor’s hands. His career, 
though brief, was glorious. He was borne at a high 
rate of speed down a steep hill side, he was lifted, to 
his utter amazement, over three stiff fences, after each of 
which experiences he found himself with his arms round 
his horse’s neck, and when at length he was deposited 
quite easily and comfortably in a bed of rushes, he did not 
in the least realize why he was there, until he became 
aware of a broad stream in front of him, and came to the 
just conclusion that his horse had declined to attempt 
im])ossibilities. 

Cicely, meanwhile, had got off badly. Both she and her 
mare were taken by surprise, and for several hundred 
yards they were much hampered by the too numerous 
field. At the first fence the mare jumped short and very 
nearly landed on her nose. This perhaps roused her not 
very amiable temper ; for no sooner had she recovered her- 
self than she threw up her head and broke clean away. 
There was notliing to be done but to sit tight and keep 
cool. Cicely had sense enough and cxi)erience enough to 
know that; also she had enough of both to be aware that 
she was in imminent danger of a bad fall. The mare, for the 
time being, had completely lost her senses, and would cer- 
tainly rush blindly at any obstacle that might lie in her 
path. She might get over such obstacles or she might 
not ; anyhow it was hopeless to attempt to steady her. 
And so it came to pass that Miss Bligh was only pre- 
vented by good luck from jumping upon the hounds, and 
that Lord Shoreham apostrophized her under his breath 
in terms quite unfit for reproduction. Her heart failed 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


8i 


her a little when she saw a great ragged bullfinch before 
her, which it was scarcely within the bounds of possibility 
that she could clear without slackening speed, and she 
made up her mind that the end was at hand. However, 
she threw up her arm to protect her face, and was 
hurled through somehow or other, though not without 
a crash and a jerk which very nearly sent her out of her 
saddle. Immediately after this the mare began to falter, 
and was easily brought to a standstill in the middle of 
a ploughed field. 

“ I thought as much,” murmured Cicely, as she slipped 
her foot out of the stirrup and sprang down to the ground ; 
and a brief examination of her mount showed her that her 
suspicions had been only too well founded. The mare, 
with starting eyeballs and heaving flanks, was quiet enough 
now, while from a long jagged wound in her shoulder the 
blood was dripping slowly. It was very evident that not 
only could there be no more hunting for Miss Bligh that 
day, but that one of the best animals in her father’s pos- 
session had been marked for life. This, it will be allowed, 
was no fault of Cicely’s ; but she felt very guilty all the 
same, and the worst of it was that she could not judge 
what the extent of the mischief might be. She had no 
means of binding up the mare’s wound, nor could she tell 
by a hasty inspection whether it was deep or merely super- 
ficial. All she knew was that it behoved her to lead the 
sufferer home without further loss of time ; and this she 
immediately prepared to do, hooking up her riding habit 
and passing her arm through the bridle. One comfort 
was that she was in no danger of being bothered by offers 
of unskilled assistance ; for Bobby Dare had disappeared, 
and on a distant hillside against the sky she could 
see Archie and his gallant grey sailing along in blissful 
unconsciousness of everything save the delightful fact that 
they had shown a clear pair of heels to their competitors. 
So, perceiving that there was a gate at the corner of the 
field, she made for it, and was soon on the high road which 
connects Abbotsport with the county town. 

Along this road it so chanced that a landed proprietor 
of the vicinity was at that moment wending his lonely way. 
He was deeply immersed in thought and his eyes were 
cast down, so that he did not at once become aware that 
a lady leading a lame horse had debouched upon the 


82 


MIS A D VENTURE. 


grassy wayside ahead of him. As soon, however, as he 
did become aware of her he quickened his pace, caught 
her up and accosted her. 

How do you do, Miss Bligh ? ” said he, taking off his 
hat. “Why are you on foot.? Have you had an acci- 
dent? ” 

Cicely recognized Mr. Chetwode, without much pleasure 
at an encounter which she felt to be inopportune. She 
wanted to get home and slie didn’t want to talk. 

“I’m afraid I have staked my mare,” she answered. 
“ Do you know anything about horses ? Perhaps you can 
tell me whether she is badly hurt or not.” 

It did not seem very likely that this alien had any 
knowledge of such subjects, and she only put the question 
to him because she supposed that, being a man, he might 
feel slighted if she did not pay him the compliment of con- 
sulting him ; but in truth, Mark, who had always been a 
lover of horses, possessed some little veterinary skill, and 
after a brief examination he was able to assure her that 
the damage done was comparatively trifling. 

“ I do not promise you that no trace of the mishap shall 
remain,” said he. “ The cut will have to be sewn up, and 
unluckily it is not a clean cut ; but I think I may safely 
say that the real value of the animal will not be affected, 
although perhaps the selling value may be.” 

Cicely was relieved and was also decidedly impressed. 
She came of a sporting family, and although she was per- 
sonally large-minded enough to admit that a man may be 
an admirable member of the community and yet not know 
a horse from a cow, she could not help thinking him a 
good deal more admirable if he did. She at once dropped 
into easy conversation with her companion, relating the 
particulars of her misadventure, to which he listened with 
deferential interest, while he paced slowly by her side. 

“ You ought to hunt,” she remarked, after a time. “ Why 
don’t you? ” 

“ For the best reason in the world,” he answered. “ I 
have no horses and no money to buy any.” 

Cicely was silent for a moment or two. She had an 
uncomfortable feeling that although Mr. Chetwode’s im- 
pecuniosity was no fault of hers, he might consider her 
father in some measure responsible for it. 

“ But really,” she resumed at length, “ I don’t see how 


MlSADl^ENTURE. 


83 


you can go on living here unless you hunt. There is 
nothing else to be done during, the winter, you see. Ex- 
cept, of course, the shooting, which w'ould help you 
through a few months.” 

“ Only I can’t afford either keepers or pheasants,” 
observed Mark, with a smile. “ Perhaps, however, I 
shall not go on living here.” 

“You mean that you will let your house again ? ” 

“ If I can find anyone sufficiently insane to take it. If 
I can’t . . . .” He shrugged his shoulders and drew 

down the corners of his mouth expressively. 

Thereupon Cicely read him a serious lecture. She 
declared emphatically that it is the plain duty of land- 
owners, whether rich or poor, to reside upon their land. 
“ A tenant,” she said,. “ can never take the place of the 
real owner of the soil, nor fulfill half his functions ; ” and 
this assertion she supported by instances and examples. 

“After all, what will you do if you leave Upton Chet- 
wode again, I wonder?” she inquired in conclusion. 

“ Ah ! ” he returned, lifting his eyebrows, “ I wonder ! ” 

He thought her very pretty, and her confident way of 
offering her opinion and advice amused him ; but she did 
not touch his heart. Madame Souravieff would perhaps 
have said that he had no heart to be touched. And it 
may be that Cicely, who though no flirt yet was accus- 
tomed to homage of a kind which this stranger showed no 
inclination to pay her, was a little puzzled and piqued by 
a failure of which she could not but be conscions ; for she 
certainly took great pains to be pleasant to him, and even 
went so far as to hint that she could enter into his feelings 
about those ancestral possessions of his which had passed 
into other hands. 

“ Of course it must be horrid for you,” she said, when 
he had informed her that the subject was rather a sore one 
with him; “but then, if I were you, I think I should set 
before myself as an object the getting of that land back 
again. It would be something to live*for.’ 

He laughed. 

“ But in order to attain that object two things are indis- 
pensable — first, that the present proprietor should be will- 
ing to sell, and, secondly, that I should have money 
enough to tempt him. How would you get over those 
difficulties. Miss Bligh? ” 


«4 


MTSADVENTl/R^. 


“ I don’t believe the first is a difficulty at all,” she 
answered. “ As for the second, money may be acquired 
after fifty fashions. Where there’s a will there’s a v/ay.” ' 
She dismissed him at her father’s gates, frankly express- 
ing a hope that she might see him again soon, and if Mark 
placed a mistaken interpretation upon her words and 
demeanor, it would be hardly fair to blame him. He was 
not a coxcomb, but he had some excuse for thinking that 
he understood women, and it did appear to him that he 
had been invited in pretty ])lain language to offer himself as 
a candidate for the hand of the heiress. But before com- 
plying with that invitation it would perhaps be prudent to 
ascertain whether she really was to be an heiress or not. 


• CHAPTER XI. 

COPPARD IN TROUBLE. 

“ Oh, we’re quite convinced that you are guilty. We don’t 
entertain any doubt at all as to that. But we have come 
to the conclusion that the evidence is insufficient, and 
therefore you will be discharged this time ; and a very 
lucky fellow you are to get off, I can tell you — a precious 
lucky fellow ! Now you take my advice and be very careful 
what you are about in future, because if you are brought 
up before us again you may not find us so disposed to be 
lenient.” 

This remarkable illustration of that fine old axiom of 
English law which declares every man innocent until he 
has been proved guilty was provided for the delectation of 
a limited audience by Sir George Dare, who was sitting 
upon the bench o^ Justice, flanked by several anxious col- 
leagues. Sir George’s colleagues were always a little 
anxious about him ; because in these evil days one never 
can be sure that tlftre is not some mischievous busybody 
at hand taking notes, and it is of course most undesirable 
that paragraphs’ should get into the newspapers which may 
tend to lessen the respect of the public for the unpaid 
magistracy. But Sir George cared not two straws for his 
colleagues or the newspapers or the public, and nothing 
whatever was to be gained by digging your elbows into his 
ribs. 


MISADVENTURE. 


8S 


“What I think I shall say,” he was wont to reply when 
counsels of prudence were offered to him, and if he thought 
it would do any culprit good to tell him that he was a rascal, 
although his rascality could not be proved by strict rule 
of evidence, he never shrank from doing his duty to that 
culprit. The culprits had no objection. They knew that 
Sir George was a great deal more fond of scolding than 
of passing severe sentences, and they knew and cared as 
little about his law as he did himself. 

The prisoner who had been addressed in the terms above- 
mentioned said, “Thank ’ee, sir,” and touched his grey 
forelock, preparatory to resuming his position as an honest 
householder without a stain uj)on his character. David 
Coppard thought it no shame to be a poacher, and if he 
was a notorious thief, he was seldom so designated in his 
hearing, because of the length and strength of his arms. 
Behind his back he was, of course, liable, like the rest of 
us, to have unpleasant things said of him by malicious and 
cowardly persons : but no sensible man deigns to take 
notice of what may be said behind his back. Coppard was 
in the habit of borrowing (not stealing, which is a very 
different thing) the lines and nets and lobster-pots of his 
neighbors. This was an understood thing, and the free- 
dom was readily pardoned by his neighbors in consideration 
of the borrower’s admirable seamanship, which was almost 
always at their service. As for rabbits, everybody knows 
what mischief those animals do. and how much more they 
would do if their numbers were not kept down by the exer- 
tions of nocturnal sportsmen. But unfortunately there are 
certain miserable land-lubbers whose minds are so warped 
by ])rejudice and selfishness that they begin to make a fuss 
if a man cannot settle his little account for tea and sugar 
at the end of a year, and who will avail themselves of any 
paltry pretext that may come handy to get such a man into 
trouble. Thus it was that Mr. CoT)pard had been sub- 
jected to the indignity of arrest upon a charge of petty 
larceny, and had incurred no small inconvenience in 
obtaining the acquittal which was his due. 

It will, perhaps, hardly be believed that anyone could be 
so mean as to give a fellow-citizen and constant customer 
-nto custody because a trumpery hammer belonging to him 
had been discovered in the possession of that fellow-citizen, 
yet this is what Simpkins, the Abbotsport grocer, had done ; 


86 


MIS AD VEiVTURE. 


and as Coppard trudged homewards nothing seemed to him 
more obvious and just and essential than that he should 
take the first opportunity of paying Simpkins out. As for 
the hammer, he had no doubt made use of it. When a 
derelict hammer finds its way by some unexplained means 
to one’s premises, and when one happens, oddly enough, 
to be in want of such an article at that very time, one 
naturally makes use of it. Surely the fact of its having a 
big S branded upon the handle does not saddle a busy man 
with the responsibility of running, round to everybody in 
Abbotsport whose name begins with an S and inquiring if 
they had mislaid anything. 

The magistrates, at all events, had very properly decided 
that no such responsibility rested upon Mr. Coppard, and 
he was free from any feeling of rancor against them. Still 
the fact remained that he had been very badly treated. So 
that when, on reaching the high-road, he chanced to 
encounter Mr. Robert Daife and young Mr. Bligh, he could 
not rest satisfied with touching his hat to these gentlemen, 
but must needs impart to them the story of his wrongs. 

“ A hunjust charge ; that’s where ’tis, you see, sir,” said 
he, fixing his eye -on Bobby, who looked the more sympa- 
thetic of the two. “ I can’t get no remedy, so they tell me ; 
but it do come hard on a workin’ man to be deprived of 
two days’ earnings, not to mention the missus’ bad temper, 
which I shall be sure to suffer from it soon as ever I get 
’ome. I couldn’t estimate this job at a farthing less than 
ten shillings out o’ my pocket, sir.” 

Bobby’s finger and thumb were at once inserted into his 
own. Bobby had a sneaking affection for old Coppard, 
though he was quite as well aware as his father that Cop- 
pard’s character would not bear too close investigation. 

But Archie, who had no foolish predilections of the kind, 
and who was in a bad humor inta the bargain, said : — 

“ It strikes me that you have not much to complain about, 
my friend. People who are found in possession of stolen 
goods don’t as a general rule get off scot-free, and I rather 
suspect that if I had been upon the bench you wouldn’t 
have been at liberty at this moment.” 

Coppard bent his shaggy brows and from beneath them 
shot an angry glance at the speaker. 

“ Then, sir,” said he, I’m ’umbly thankful as you’re 
not upon the bench now, nor likely to be. Nor likely to 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


87 


be/’ he added with emphasis, while he pocketed Bobby’s 
half-sovereign, saying : — Thank ’ee kindly, Cap’en, and 
’t will be a dooty and a pleasure to me to drink your good 
’ealth. Likewise that of Sir George and all true gentlemen ; 
which there ain’t a many of ’em left, sir.” 

“ Well, don’t drink our healths more than once or twice, 
you know, Coppard,” returned Bobby, laughing. 

‘‘ He’ll drink as long as he has any money to spend on 
drink, you may be sure,” said Archie, when the two young 
men had resumed their walk. “ What an ass you are to 
tip such an old ruffian ! You’re only stimulating the 
liquor traffic, and doing him a great deal more harm than 
good.” 

This being in all probability true, Bobby remained 
meekly silent. From the days when they had been boys 
together he had always been accustomed to be called an 
ass by Archie, and had ahvays felt that the accusation was 
justified by facts. He had no sort of admiration for him- 
self, while he had a great admiration for his companion, 
mingled with such envy as an honest man may entertain of 
one who has ever surpassed him in those attributes which 
are apt to excite general admiration. Wandering towards 
Abbotsport that morning, with a secret hope of meeting 
Cicely, he had met her cousin instead, and having been 
informed by the latter that Miss Bligh was spending the 
day at the Rectory, had generoujly invited him to come 
home to luncheon. This invitation Archie had acct'ihcd 
after a moment’s hesitation. He did not want to be bored 
by the numerous Miss Dares, but he was still less desirous 
of returning to the Priory and struggling to keep ui)on 
terms of civility with Morton while dejDrived of Cicely’s 
restraining influence ; and Cicely had given him to under- 
stand that she had parish matters to talk over with Mrs. 
Lowndes which would keep her occupied until at least the 
middle of the afternoon. 

“ 1 hear you were in at the death the other day,” 
remarked Bobby, after a pause. 

Oh, yes,” answered the other, in a somewhat dissatisfied 
voice ; “ I couldn’t have helped it unless I had tried. I 
certainly should have tried if I had known my cousin had 
come to grief ; but I lost sight of her and took it for granted 
that her mare had refused the brook. What became of 
you? ” 


88 


Misadventure. 


“ Well, I can hardly tell you,” replied Bobby. “ After 
a bit I found myself standing on my head, and then I had 
a great piece of work to catch my brute of a horse. When 
I did catch him, I climbed up on his back and went home. 
It didn’t occur to me that Miss Bligh might be in need -of 
assistance.” 

‘‘She wasn’t in need of any assistance that you could 
have given her,” responded Archie, rather unkindly. “ A 
man who had known what he was about might have 
changed the saddles and saved her a long walk, that’s all. 
As it happened, she fell in with that fellow Chetwode, who, 
she says, set her mind at ease. Though how he could have 
set her mind at ease without telling her a pretty big cram 
I don’t know, considering that the mare is marked for 
life.” 

Instowe, the residence of Sir George Dare, was a large, 
rambling white house of no architectural pretensions. 
That it was large was a fortunate circumstance, seeing that 
it corresponded in that respect with Sir George’s family. 
Sir George was the father of five sons and six daughters. 
The former were all earning their own living, or almost 
earning it, in various professions, and only one of them, 
Bobby, was now at home ; but the latter remained under 
the paternal roof, and Lady Dare feared that there was 
every possibility of their remaining there permanently, 
because it was useless to shut one’s eyes to the fact that 
they were not pretty. Plain they could not fairly be called \ 
but in a county fairly denuded of bachelors there is little 
chance for girls who have only just escaped being plain, 
and as for seasons in London, Sir George declared that 
once in three years was the very utmost that his resources 
could be made to meet. Consequently Lady Dare was a 
little peevish at times. 

She received the unexpected guest with a good deal of 
friendliness ; and Archie, who had known the stout, grey- 
haired harassed-looking woman all his life, and had always 
been rather a favorite of hers, was put into somewhat 
better humor by her cordiality. Archie, after all, was un- 
married, and certain to be pretty well provided for by his 
rich uncle. It was said, to be sure,* that he was smitten 
with his cousin ; but that did not at all prove that his 
cousin was smitten with him, and the most unlikely events 
are for ever occurring. Lady Dare would have thought it 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


S9 

very wrong and very foolish to show any lack of civility to 
the young soldier; nor were the six Misses Dare (whose 
ages ranged from seventeen to eight-and-twenty) remiss in 
welcoming this addition to the family luncheon-party. 
Ggod-humored, rosy-faced Sir George, who bustled in just 
as the big bell on the top of the house was set going, was 
quite as hearty and much more disinterested. Sir George 
reposed his trust in Providence, and imagined that if his 
daughters were destined to marry, the right man would 
turn up at th^ right time. He entertained no sort of hope 
of Archie Bligh, who, for his part, he sincerely trusted 
might marry Cicely and oust that worse than useless crea- 
ture, Morton. 

“ Well,” he said, as soon as he had taken his place at 
the head of the table and had commenced operations upon 
the joint before him, we let off your friend Coppard this 
morning, Bobby. Not that he deserved it. There isn’t a 
more poaching, thieving vagabond in these parts, and so 
I’ve told him scores of times. Much he cares what one 
tells him ! Still the rascal has a wife and family.” 

“ He has a great respect for you. Sir George,” remarked 
Archie. “ We met him on our way here, and Bobby gave 
him half a sovereign which he said he would expend in 
drinking your health.” 

“ The devil he did ! ” ejaculated Sir George. “ Con- 
found the fellow ! Why I gave him half-a-crown myself to 
compensate him for his loss of time ; and quite enough too. 
I tell you what it is, Bobby ; if you are going to behave in 
this way, the sooner you get afloat again the better. Haif- 
a-sovereign for stealing a hammer ! At that rate the next 
time he helps himself to my pheasants he’ll expect a five- 
pound note, I suppose.” 

“ And very likely get it,” remarked the eldest Miss 
Dare, who was credited by her family with a great deal of 
practical common sense. “ Bobby,” she continued, “may 
be excused ; he knows no better. But really, papa, I 
don’t understand why you gave Coppard that half-crown.” 

“ My dear, I have told you,” replied Sir George. “ The 
man had lost a day’s work ; and after all it was a trumpery 
charge. Very shabby of Simpkins, in my opinion, and I 
shall certainly let him know what I think of him.” 

“ I wish you would mention to him at the same time 
that he systematically sends us short measure of every- 


90 


MISADVENTURE. 


thing,” said Lady Dare. “ One gets one’s groceries from 
the local man because it is one’s duty^ and one submits to 
their being very bad and very dear ; but it is a little too 
much that he should swindle us into the bargain.” 

The conversation, after this, turned chiefly upon the mis- 
deeds of Simpkins and others, and was utterly uninterest- 
ing to Archie, who ate his mutton in silence and wished 
himself away. Nor was he much better pleased when the 
topic of Lady Dare’s annual ball, which was upi)ointed to 
take place shortly, was introduced. He w^s obliged to 
say that he would be delighted to attend that festivity, but 
he inwardly resolved that his presence should be con- 
ditional upon that of Cicely, which he knew from her own 
lips to be as yet an uncertain factor. 

But Lady Dare was not so well informed. 

I daresay,” she remarked graciously, ‘‘ that we may 
trust Cicely to see that you do not fail us. I haven’t yet 
sent a card to your cousin Morton,” she added in a dubious 
tone. “ Do you think he would come ? ” 

“ I am sure he would if he suspected that you didn’t 
want him,” said Archie. “ Of course you don’t want him.” 

“ Well, under all the circumstances ” began Lady 

Dare. But the circumstances could not be discussed 
before her daughters, so she left her sentence unfinished. 

“ Don’t forget to ask Chetwode, by the way,” called out 
Sir George from the other end of the table. “ I rode over 
to call upon him the other day, but he wasn’t at home. 
You’ve seen him, I suppose, Archie? ” | ^ ^ 

“ Oh, yes, several times,” answered Archie. “ He was 
dining with us last night.” 

“Was he really? I’m very glad to hear that. There 
was an estrangement, you know, in his father’s time — quite 
uncalled for — and I was afraid this young man might keep 
it up. And what is he like, eh ? Pleasant sort of 
fellow ? ” " 

I should think most people would call him so,” Archie 
was generous enough to reply ; “ I haven’t talked very 
much to him myself.” 

“ He is dreadfully impoverished, I understand,” ob- 
served Lady Dare, with a sigh which was not altogether 
caused by pity for the impoverished one. 

“ He can’t help that, poor beggar ! ” returned her good- 
natured husband, 


jM/SJ I) VENTURE. 


91 


“ He might have helped it, by all accounts. However,” 
added Lady Dare, with another sigh, it doesn’t concern 
us.” 

After this there was a long discussion as to who was and 
who was not coming to the dance, and whether Lord 
Shoreham would put in an appearance, and whether, if he 
did, he would behave himself decently, and so forth — all of 
which was a weariness to Archie, who wanted to get away. 
He did not get away ulitil the afternoon was well advanced, 
because he was too young to have acrpiired that art of 
creating a pause which very few people acquire before 
middle-age, and in his clumsy efforts to emancipate himself 
he only succeeded in snubbing everybody. 

When at length he had taken his leave, the eldest Miss 
Dare remarked : — 

“ d'hat young man has far too high an opinion of 
himself.” ^ 

It was to her brother that she expressed this opinion, 
and probably she had reason for believing that it would 
not be unwelcome to him, since she had led him out into 
the garden to deliver it. 

But Bobby answered disconsolately, “ Oh, I don’t know. 
I shouldn’t call him a conceited fellow ; and even if he is, 
he has some right to be,” 

“ Bobby,” said Miss Dare, impressively, “ you are an 
utter goose. Nobody who is worth anything is conceited ; 
but of course if you will persist in asserting that Archie 
Bligh is your superior (which he isn’t), you will be believed, 
because it will naturally be supposed that you ought to 
know. If I were you I should be ashamed of having so 
little pluck.” 

“ My dear Jane, what on earth. do you mean? ” inquired 
Bobby, with round eyes of astonishment. 

“ I mean,” answered Miss Dare, composedly, “ that 
everybody knows that you are in love with Cicely Bligh, 
and that I know you are quite good enough for her, and 
that you will never have the slightest chance of getting 
what you want unless you are bold enough to declare your- 
self. Girls don’t, as a rule, fall in love with their cousins 
— and I’m sure there’s nothing so desperately fascinating 
about Archie ! — but girls will sometimes marry against 
their own inclinations to please their fathers. Especially 
when other people are too stupid or too modest to come 
forward. 


92 


MIS AD VENT DDE. 


Bobby was much surprised. He had been under the 
impression that his secret had been most carefully kept ; 
but he was not altogether sorry that his sister, upon whose 
insight he placed great reliance, had divined it. “The 
truth is,” said he, presently, “ that I’ve no business to ask 
any girl to marry me. I haven’t got any coin, you see.” 

“ But she has — or will have.” 

“ That’s just it. Putting everything else aside, w^ouldn’t 
she think it great cheek of a pauper like me to propose to 
an heiress ? ” 

“ No, she wouldn’t. She is not an idiot ; and if it is any 
comfort to you to know' that she can read you like a book, 
you may safely lay that comfort to your soul. Only she 
will be very apt to despise you if you despise yourself.” 

Poor Bobby heaved a deep sigh and formed a bold 
resolution. He was not very sanguine, but, after all, his 
sister might be right, and could hardly be very far from 
wrong. If one is to be rejected, one may as well be 
rejected in plain terms as by implication. 


CHAPTER XII. 

LADY dare’s ball. 

It is the nature of mankind, and perhaps (though one 
must not venture to affirm this too positively) it is even . 
more the nature of womankind, to desire wffiat seems to be 
difficult of attainment, and to despise everything that has 
either been already attained or may be attained without 
much exertion. That, at all events, seems the most plau- 
sible explanation of the fact that Cicely Bligh patronized 
her cousin Archie, and snubbed Bobby Dare, both of 
whom were very nice young men indeed, whilst she took 
an almost respectful interest in Mark Chetwode, who was 
past his first youth, who had never been handsome, and 
who took very little trouble to please her. Mark, as has 
been mentioned, had dined at the Priory, and it may be 
added that he had produced a generally favorable impres- 
sion there. Mr. Bligh had found him clever and excep- 
tionally well-informed upon questions of European politics, 
Miss Skipwith had been much gratified by his courteous 


Mis AD VENTURE. 


93 


and deferential address, and Morton had liked him as 
much as he could like anybody except himself — which, to 
be sure, is not making a strong positive statement, yet 
must be accounted as strong in a comparative sense. But 
to Cicely he had scarcely spoken at all ; and this naturally 
interested her, because she could not comprehend why he 
should be so odd and so very unlike other people. 

While Archie w'as spending a long and weary afternoon 
with the Dare family, as narrated in the last chapter, 
Cicely was discussing this abnormal stranger with Mrs. 
Lowndes ; and Mrs. Lowndes, a lean, busy little woman, 
with iron-grey hair, who had no children, and whose inti- 
mate acquaintance with the affairs of everyone who dwelt 
within ten miles of her was proverbial, said : — 

“ My dear, you may depend upon it there is some en- 
tanglement. As soon as I had seen the man I said to 
Robert, ‘ There is some entanglement.’ He has a sort of 
hopeless look which tells its own tale as plainly as possible. 
Besides, why is he burying himself down here? Not 
because he cares a fig for his property or his tenants or his 
neighbors, you may be sure. The whole time that I was 
talking to him about them he kept swallowing yawms until 
his eyes began to water. No ! there is a mystery in the 
case ; and if it were not wrong to bet, I would bet you a 
shilling to sixpence that a woman is at the bottom of it.” 

Sharp little Mrs. Lowndes was, as we know, both right 
and wrong. Cicely had no means of verifying the more 
experienced lady’s diagnosis, but it is needless to say that, 
after that, she was more than ever determined to get at the 
truth. Mr. Chetwode and his entanglements might not 
concern her particularly, yet it was intolerable that he 
should continue to be mysterious. When one holds tri- 
umphant Sway over the entire countryside one really cannot 
suffer mysteries to remain unexplained. 

And so, when certain parochial matters had been talked 
over, and Cicely had set out homewards, her thoughts 
were a good deal occupied with Mr. Chetwode. She W'as 
not at all surprised to find Archie loitering at the corner 
of one of the lanes, nor was she taken in for a moment by 
his clumsy affectation of a start. 

‘‘ Do you mean to tell me that you have only just got 
away from the Rectory ? ” he asked. “ What can you 
have been doing all this time ? ” 


94 


M/S A D VENTURE. 


“ Have 1 been a long time ? I did not know it was 
long,” returned Cicely. “ Mrs. Lowndes and I always 
have plenty to do when we meet. And how have you been 
occupying yourself during my absence } ’’ 

“ Oh, I’ve been lunching out, too,” answered Archie^ 
rather dismally. “ I didn’t want to be left to the tender 
mercies of Morton if I could help it, so, as I happened to 
come across Bobby Dare, and as he asked me to go and 
lunch at Instowe, 1 thought I had better accept. It was 
deadly dull. They are deadly dull people, and tliey 
wouldn’t talk about anything except that ball of theirs — 
which will be deadly dull too, I expect.” 

Oh, they have made you promise to go to it then ? ” 

“I don’t think I exactly promised; but if I did I can 
have a sick headache when the time comes. And I cer- 
tainly will unless you go. \Vhy can’t you go ? ” 

“ ACell, I told you, you know. I can’t be sure that papa 
will be well enough to be left.” 

“ Oh, but that’s only an excuse. Of course you can go 
if you want to go.” 

‘‘But why should I want to go ? You yourself say that 
it will be deadly dull, and what inducement have you to 
offer me beyond that of a waltz or two with you ? — and you 
know, my dear Archie, that unless you have improved very 
much you arc not quite a first-rate dancer.” 

‘M have improved very much,” Archie declared. 

Moreover, you will have Bobby to dance with, if that’s 
an inducement. Chetwode too, I believe, for they said 
they must ask him. Would Chetwode be an induce- 
ment ? ” 

“An immense one,” answered Cicely decisively. “ If 
ne accepts the invitation I will certainly make an effort to 
do likewise. I can see you and Bobby any day, but it isn’t 
so easy to see Mr. Chetwode, or to get him to talk when 
one does see him.” 

Archie grunted. 

^ “ I don’t know why you should be so anxious to make 
him talk,” he remarked. 

“ You would know if you had tried and failed. Perhaps 
he may have nothing to say ; but one would like to make 
sure of that before giving him up. I wonder whether 
Morton will go. Did they say anything about asking 
him ” 


M/SAD VENTURE, 


95 


‘‘ Well — yes, they did,” Archie replied, with some hesi- 
tation. 

‘‘ Only they had doubts as to the propriety of intro- 
ducing him to their friends, I suppose. They are wrong, I 
think. Some day or other he will be Lord of Abbotsport 
Manor, and then they will be obliged to know him. They 
ought to send him a card — especially as he is almost sure 
to refuse.” 

But when this question was spoken of during dinner, it 
transpired that Morton took no such ungenerous view of 
his duty to his neighbors. He said he would certainly 
show himself at the ball, and did not even seem to think 
that there was any occasion for him to wait until he was 
asked. Further, he was clearly of opinion that Mark ought 
to be there, and must be taken there by main force if 
necessary. 

“ London is one thing,” he was good enough to explain, 
“ and Abbotsport is another. One can’t decline civilities 
here without giving a good and sufficient reason. It’s one 
of the first duties of a man who is trying to become a 
country gentleman to submit to social nuisances and look 
pleasant.” 

“ Are you trying to become a country gentleman, 
Morton ? ” inquired his father, with an air of faintly 
amused curiosity. 

“ I’ve no choice in the matter,” replied the heir-apparent 
calmly ; “ that is what I’m bound to be, and I must make 
^up my mind to it. Chetwode isn’t situated quite as I am, 
and I daresay he may be inclined to shirk his burdens.. 
But he mustn’t be allowed to shirk them ; we’ll offer him 
a lift over to Instowe. He has no trap of his own, I 
believe.” 

“ Only, as you mean to join us, we shall be four without 
him,” remarked Archie. 

“ Well,” said Morton, composedly, “ we can divide our- 
selves into two carriage loads. In fact we ought to do so, 
for I am sure Aunt Susan would be grieved beyond 
measure if her ball-dress were crushed. You and the two 
ladies can take the landau, and I’ll drive Chetwode over 
in the brougham. I suppose the stables do contain an 
animal who is quiet enough to go in single harness without 
scaring a nervous man out of his wits ? ” 

i\Ir. Bligh having intimated that such was probably the 


MISADVENTURE, 


96 

case, the subject dropped, and before the date fixed for 
the ball Morton was at theipains of walking over a second 
time to Upton Chetwode and bringing a certain amount of 
pressure to bear upon one whose inclinations appeared to 
tend towards seclusion. Mark said he didn’t think he 
would derive much amusement from provincial gaieties, 
but yielded gracefully when he was informed that it was 
Miss Bligh’s particular wish that he should respond to such 
advances as his neighbors were able to make to him. 

“ Cicely went the length of saying that she herself would 
not put in an appearance unless you did,” Morton averred. 

She’s tremendously in earnest about it ; and upon my 
word I believe she’s right. It doesn’t do to make oneself 
unpopular. Just look at me, for instance. I expect I hate 
balls a good deal more than you do, and no one has paid 
me such a compliment as to say that she would go to 
Instowe for the pleasure of meeting me ; but I shall be 
there just the same.” 

In presence of so bright an example Mark could no 
longer hesitate. He signified his willingness to do all that 
might be required of him, and accepted with thanks Mor- 
ton’s kind offer of a seat in Mr. Bligh’s brougham ; and 
after his visitor had left him he laughed unrestrainedly for 
several minutes. All this was certainly a little comical. 
Morton’s designs were simple and explicable enough ; but 
what in the world did a young and beautiful heiress mean by 
throwing herself at his head ? During the whole of his 
career, which, in a social sense, had been tolerably event- 
.fill, he had had no such experience ; and not unnaturally 
Cicely sank in his estimation by reason of her supposed 
importunity. He was, of course, willing enough to marry 
her, if it came to that, but he was not sure that it would 
not be a great bore to have to make love to her. His sen- 
timents, in short, were precisely wdiat those of the writer 
and reader of these words would probably be under 
similar circumstances ; and if the statement of them makes 
him appear somewhat of a coxcomb, allowance may per- 
haps be made for him in consideration of his complete 
misunderstanding of the case. This was, at any rate, the 
very last time that any such misconception came within 
the range of his capacities. 

For, although, when the proper time arrived, he duly 
carried out his share of the compact and \vas conducted 


'ms A D VENTURE. 


97 


by Morton Bligh to the scene of festivity, Miss Bligh did 
not see fit to fulfill hers, except in so far as that she was 
present in the ball-room on his entrance. She seemed 
quite surprised when he asked her how many dances she 
could spare him. 

“ I am very sorry,” she answered, “ but my card is more 
than full, and, as it is, I shall have to throw a good many 
people over most likely, because I don’t think I can stay 
till the end. But I shall be very glad to introduce you to 
partners, if you are in want of them.” 

Mark smilingly declined and fell back, with a distinct 
feeling of mortification. He had not expected to be so 
snubbed, nor did he in the least believe, what was never- 
theless perfectly true, that Cicely’s programme could have 
been filled up so early in the evening. To be a beauty in 
London or Paris, or any other large city, is to be one of a 
certain number of happy and distinguished persons ; but 
to be the beauty of an English county is very generally to 
shine supreme and alone, and, since it is human to be gre- 
garious, Cicely’s admirers numbered just as many young 
men as there were in the room. Moreover, it was a matter 
of almost absolute indifference to her whether she danced 
with A or B ; so she had promised three dances in ad- 
vance to her cousin, and had willingly accorded as many 
to Bobby Dare, who had rushed forward to implore them 
immediately upon her arrival. 

Mark leant against the wall and watched het, after 
quieting his conscience by walking through a set of lancers 
with the eldest Miss Dare. Her frock was very well cut, 
he noticed — assuredly it was not the handiwork of a pro- 
vincial dressmaker — and as for her beauty, that was what 
he had never thought of disputing. Only, somehow or 
other, it attracted him to-night, which it could scarcely be 
said to have done heretofore. After her very plain invita- 
tion to him, he could only account for her behavior 
upon the supposition that she was either capricious or a 
coquette, and the uncertainty stimulated his curiosity. 

In reality she was quite as much disappointed as he was 
that her engagements did not permit of her dancing with 
him, and she also thought him rather tiresome for having 
been so dilatory about presenting himself. But upon 
further consideration she remembered that the delay was 
probably rather Morton’s fault than his ; so that it seemed 


98 


MIS AD PD NT DDE. 

a little unfair to make him suffer for it. Consulting her 
programme she found that she had promised the fourteenth 
dance to Archie and the fifteenth to Bobby ; and, with 
that unscrupulousness which all women, unhappily, are 
wont to exhibit in their dealings with those whom they 
have brought into subjection, she determined to ask each 
of them to let her off. She used no deception in the 
matter : she told them both candidly that she wished to 
dance with Mr. Chejwode, and that she relied upon their 
good-nature to enable her to do as she wished. And 
having been granted the release, which could hardly be 
refused, she requested her partner to conduct her to Mr. 
Chetwode, whom she informed that, after all, she could 
manage to give him numbers fourteen and fifteen, if he 
cared to have them. 

“ You are very kind,” he replied, with that deferential, 
un-English bow of his. “ I was thinking of going away ; 
but now I shall most thankfully remain. I only wish I 
could flatter myself that, as a partner, I should prove 
worthy of you.” 

. He danced, as many Russians do, after the German 
fashion — that is to say, admirably in respect of time and 
smoothness, yet with a manner of holding himself and his 
partner which was a little uncomfortable to a lady who had 
never been out of England. Perhaps it was because she 
did not get on with him quite as well as she had expected, 
perhaps it was (as she alleged) because the evening was 
far advanced and she was tired out, but more probably it 
was because she desired to test his conversational rather 
than his waltzing powers that Cicely proposed to sit out 
the remainder of the time at her disposal. At all events, 
she obtained his assent, of which she lost no time in taking 
advantage. Hitherto, this man had baffled her ; and to be 
baffled was an altogether novel experience for Miss Bligh. 
She put forth all her powers, which were very great (is not 
the power of any young and beautiful woman enormous?), 
to break down the barrier of his polite reserve, and it need 
scarcely be said that she was successful. She made him 
talk about himself ; she led him on to speak of subjects 
which he was not in the habit of discussing ; she did not, 
it is true, hear anything about Madame Souravieff — 
because one must draw the line somewhere — but she learnt 
that Mr. Chetwode was a wearv and unhappy man. that he 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


99 


had lost all his illusions and did not knovr vdier.e to find 
fresh ones ; also that sympathy was very pleasant and very 
welcome to him. 

And he, for his part, was perfectly sincere. He not only 
seemed to be fascinated, but really was fascinated. Being 
no fool, he very soon perceived that. Cicely was neither in 
love with him nor anxious to make him fall in love with 
her. He had never met a woman at all like her before- 
had never, indeed, had the chance of so doing — and her 
combination of audacity and innocence touched some chord 
or other in his heart which through the whole of his pre- 
vious life had remained intact. It was with quite sponta- 
neous honesty that he paid her a very pretty compliment 
at length. 

“You understand a great deal,” he said. “ How is it 
that you have come to understand so much without ever 
leaving Abbotsport ? ” 

“ What is the difference between Abbotsport and other 
places ? ” she asked, laughing. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I suppose you are right ; it is always the same story 
over and over again ; only sometimes it is printed in big 
type and sometimes in small. Still one does not meet 
every day with a person whose eyes are clear enough to 
read the small type. And is that enough for you ? Will 
you have philosophy enough to live always contentedly in 
a microcosm ? ” 

“ If that were to be my fate I don’t think I should com- 
plain of it,” answered Cicely ; “ but it is not at all likely to 
be my fate.” 

“ Doesn’t one’s fate very much depend upon oneself? ” 

“Yours may, and I daresay it does ; but mine will be 
settled for me by other people. Here comes Bobby, look- 
ing very sad and reproachful ; I must go and dance with 
him, poor boy ! And you can go home to bed, as I see 
that you are dying to do. Take the brougham, if you 
want it ; we will make room for Morton, and put Archie 
up on the box.” 

But Mark, instead of going home, remained where he 
was for a time, and watched her while she danced. “ It is 
not going to be such a simple affair after all,” he thought 
to himself. Indeed, there were several reasons why the 
line of action upon which he liad resolved seemed less easy 


loo 


MISADVE^'TUKE. 

to carry out than it had at first appeared. To begin with, 
he had discovered that Miss Bligh’s intelligence was above 
the average ; then he suspected that although, like most 
women, she coveted admiration, her head was not likely to 
be turned by it ; finally — and this was most serious of all 
— his own head was no longer as cool as he could have 
wished it to be. He was conscious of certain once- 
familiar sensations, from the recurrence of which he had 
believed himself to be permanently delivered he was con- 
scious, too, of a decided loss of self-confidence and 
increase of anxiety. “ No, it isn’t going to be simple,’' 
he repeated, as he rose and made for the door. “ How- 
ever, that will, at least j ;nake it more interesting.” 


CHAPTER XIH. 

BOBBY IS PUT OUT OF SUSPENSE. 

While Cicely was producing the impression above men- 
tioned upon Mark Chetwode, while Archie from a distant 
point of vantage was glaring at the unconscious couple, 
and while the remainder of the assembled company were, 
it may be hoped, enjoying themselves after their several 
fashions, Bobby Dare was in a condition of tumultuous 
mental excitement. That very evening. — so he had deter- 
mined — he was to hear whether life thenceforth should 
mean for him a hopeful effort towards some realizable ideal 
or merely a daily round of monotonous duty. Either way, 
he was going to be relieved from suspense, which is always 
a stirring prospect. His sister Jane had patted him on 
the back and encouraged him very much, but that is what 
one’s sister Jane may generally be relied upon to do j and 
if one be a sensible man, like Bobby, one makes allowance 
for her partiality while duly appreciating it, and is not 
specially elated by her sanguine anticipations. Bobby was 
very far from being sanguine, yet he was glad, as every 
brave man ought to be, that the time for decisive action 
had arrived ; and so, after he had danced with Cicely for 
a minute or two, he asked her whether she would mind 
coming with him into the library. “ Because.” said he, “ I 
want to tell you something.” 


MIS AD VDNTUDE. 


loi 


“ I shall be delighted, ” she answeVed unhesitatingly. “ I 
have had more than enough dancing for one night, and if 
you can tell me anything of a nature to amuse or interest 
me I shall be truly grateful.” 

The library was deserted, and in the way of illumination 
had but two shaded lamps (a concession to modem social 
recpiirements which Lady Dare had only sanctioned after 
a struggle), the bay-windows had been thrown open, and 
beside one of them was an arm-chair, of which Cicely 
promj)tly took possession. 

“ Well,” said she, as soon as Bobby had seated himself, 
with his elbows on his knees, upon an old-fashioned stool 
in front of her, “ speak on, I am accustomed to receiving 
confidences ; nobody gets more of them than I do, and if 
I were not so discreet, I could tell you all the domestic 
secrets of Abbotsport. What is your particular trouble ? 
Have you been falling desperately in love with somebody, 
after the manner of sailors ? And has she snubbed you ? ” 

Perhaps this was rather a cruel speech ; but then it must 
be apparent to everybody that there are occasions upon 
which one is cruel only to be kind. Bobby neither took 
the hint nor resented it. 

‘‘ First of all,” he answered, “ I wanted to tell you that 
Fve been a])i)ointed to the Cygnet^ and that I shall have 
to join in a few days.” 

‘Ht is very ignorant of me, but I really don’t know 
whether I ought to congratulate you or not. Where is the 
Cygnet t And what is she going to do ? ” 

‘‘ Oh it’s a matter for congratulation, I think. I shall 
be on the East Indian station — in the Persian Gulf or the 
Red Sea, most likely — and one might be worse off than that. 
There’s always the chance of active service in putting down 
the slave trade, you see. But what I have made up my mind 
to say to you to-night — loecause I’m sure it’s better to say 
it and have done with it — is that whatever happens to me 
in the future will be good or bad or indifferent, just as you 
may decide.” 

Cicely assumed an air of astonishment which she did not 
feel. 

I don’t understand how that can be,” she declared. 

'' But of course you do understand,” returned Bobby, 
who was a very straightforward young man. You under- 
stand quite w^ll. Cicely, that I love you, and that I have 


102 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


never lOved anyone but you. I haven’t said so before, but 
you knew it without my saying so ; and now I want you 
to tell me honestly whether it’s an altogether hopeless 
business or not. I can do with a very little bit of hoj^e,” 
he added modestly, “ if you can give it me.” 

Cicely burst out laughing. Her laughter might have 
struck a dispassionate observer as being a trifle forced, but 
it would have been most unreasonable to expect of a 
matter-of-fact and amorous young sailor that he should be 
in a position to make dispassionate observations. 

“ My dear Bobby,” she exclaimed, “you are very flatter- 
ing, but you are a little bit absurd, you know. Didn’t I 
tell you you were in love with somebody? Well, by this 
time next year you will be in love with somebody else, that’s 
all. And then, if there’s any gratitude in you, you will be 
thankful to me, I hope, for not having taken you too 
seriously.” 

“ That isn’t a fair way to answer me. Cicely. You may 
refuse me, and I suppose you Will ; but you aren’t heartless 
enough to laugh at me, and you needn’t pretend that you 
are. I know you better than that.” 

Cicely was a little surprised, and showed >she was so by 
a change in her voice. 

“ But Bobby,” she remonstrated, “ how would you have 
me answer you? You are only a boy.” 

“So you say ; still the fact remains that I am a man. 
Jf you tell me that you don’t care for me, and never can 
care for me, there’s an end of it ; only I’m sure you can’t 
think me absurd. It wasn’t absurd to love you. It may 
be presumptuous perhaps ; that I quite admit.” 

If he had been as clever as he was stupid, and as 
designing as he was honest, he could not have put the case 
more effectively ; for he touched Cicely’s heart and made 
her feel ashamed of herself. Nevertheless, she shook her 
head. 

“ I am very sorry, Bobby,” she said, “ but you mustn’t 
think about it any more. I hope you won’t think about it 
any more — or, at any rate, not for long. You oi^ghtn’t to 
call me heartless because I can’t help remembering how 
young )«ou are. You haven’t seen a great many wgmen 
yet, have you? And just think what a dreadful thing it 
would be to be bound to one, and then to find that there 
was another whom you liked better.” 


M/SJ D VEXTURE. 


103 


“ I daresay it would be dreadful if it were possible,” 
answered Bobby ; “ only in my case it isn’t possible. 
However, I suppose you mean me to understand that 
there’s no chance for me ? ” 

Cicely, by silence, signified assent. The moon, which 
was nearly at the full, shone in through the open window, 
and fell uj)on the features of the handsome, dejected- 
looking young fellow who sat facing her. She had never 
meant to flirt with him ; she had never meant to give a 
moment of pain to his honest heart. Certainly she had 
known he was an admirer of hers ; but then so many people 
were admirers of hers ! Yet, while she looked at him, her 
conscience pricked her, and at length she said : — 

“ I haven’t — I hope you don’t think I have — encouraged 
you, Bobby ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” he replied, with a dreary little laugh ; “ you 
cannot be accused of having done that. Only there 
seemed to be just the least shadow of a hope, and as I am 
going away for such a long time I thought 1 would rather 
hear the truth before I started ; and then Jane kept on 
telling me that I should never get what I wanted if I 
hadn’t the pluck to ask for it — which was sensible enough, 
I daresay.” 

The counsels of Jane \vere no doubt sensible in the 
abstract, but it was scarcely sensible to cpiote them to 
Cicely, whose manner at once underwent a slight change. 

“ Oh,” said she, ‘‘you have been making a co7ifidante of 
Jane, then ” 

In truth there was no great love lost between her and 
Miss Dare, who was strong-minded and managing, and 
whom she suspected (with perfect justice) of being desirous 
that her brother should marry a rich woman. 

“ I didn’t exactly confide in her,” answered Bobby. 
“ She guessed what was the matter with me, and when 
she taxed me with it in plain terms I couldn’t contradict 
her. So then she urged me not to put off speaking until 
it might be too late.” 

“ Your sister,” observed Cicely, “ doesn’t seem to give me 
credit for knowing my own mind. Did she think that it 
was a question of who might happen to speak first ? ” 

“ No, only she thought But perhaps you will be 

offended if I tell you what she thought.” 

“ Perhaps I shall,” answered Cicely ; “ but I wish to 
hear it, all the same. Go on.” .... 


104 


M/S A D VENTURE. 


And so accustomed was Bobby to obey this imperious 
young lady that he did not venture to dispute her pleasure. 

“ Well,” he began, “ I was afraid — of course I don’t 
know whether I am right or wrong, and I mustn’t ask — 
but for some time past I have been very much afraid of 
Archie. Jealous of him in short, if I must speak the plain 
truth.” 

“ Yes,” said Cicely^ with an unmoved countenance, for 
indeed this was no news to her. 

Bobby looked wistfully at her for a moment, and then 
resumed : — 

‘‘ Naturally I can’t help knowing that Archie is a cut 
above me in almost everything, except, perhaps, in sailing 
a boat ; but Jane, you see ” 

“ Jane, quite as naturally, has a less humble opinion of 
you. So far, I am entirely with Jane. Well ? ” 

‘‘ Well, she wouldn’t allow that, on our merits, there was 
much difference between us ; but she has an idea that 
your father wants you to marry Archie, and that you may 
do it in order to please him. I’ve been thinking a good 
deal about it since,” continued Bobby, as the girl remained 
silent, “and it seems to me that it really is a danger. A 
danger for you, I mean ; as for me, no doubt I shouldn’t 
have been any better off if Archie had never been born.” 

And, with a certain unstudied eloquence which was not 
ineffective, he proceeded to expatiate upon the fatal con- 
sequences which must necessarily result from a marriage of 
convenience. He declared — and his face proved his 
sincerity — that he cared far more for her happiness than 
for his own, that he could very well bear to hear that she 
had married a man whom she loved, and that he had always 
known that he himself could hardly win her love by any- 
thing short of a miracle ; but to hear that from motives of 
expediency she had married a man whom she did not 
really love would, he confessed, be to him the very worst 
news possible, and he implored her not to sacrifice herself 
in so useless a way. 

Cicely’s response to his appeal was scarcely satisfactory 
to him. 

“ Perhaps,” said she, “ the simplest plan is not to 
marry at all. I don’t think I have ever met anybody 
except my father whom I should care to live with always; 
and you are completely mistaken if you imagine that he 
wishes me to marry against my will.” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


105 

“ Perhaps he doesn’t,” answered Bobby, doubtfully, 
“ but everybody seems to think that he has set his heart 
upon your marrying Archie. And small blame to him if 
he has ! Although I do trust you won’t oblige him, unless 
— unless ” 

Cicely shut up her fan with a sudden impatient rattle. 

“ Oh, the chances are that I shall live and die an old 
maid,” she said. ‘‘No doubt there are plenty of women 
who can manage to think their husbands paragons of 
perfection, but I can’t believe myself capable of such 
imbecility, and if one didn’t think the man a paragon, I 
don’t see how one could escape abhorring him. The 
whole question is one of imagination from beginning to 
end, and my imagination has always been defective.” 

That was probably true ; and it was certainly true that 
she was as yet fancy free. If anyone had contrived to 
find a soft place in her heart, that person was no other 
than the modest Bobby himself ; but of course such an 
avowal could not be made without a risk of misconception. 

And now this interview was brought to an abrupt close 
by the entrance of Archie, who marched up to the couple 
in a state of ill-disguised irritation, to say that he had been 
looking for them all over the place, that the carriage was 
at the door, and that everybody was going away. 

‘‘ Chetwode appears to have appropriated the brougham,” 
he added. “ Pretty cool of him, I must say. We shall 
have to stow Morton away somehow.” 

He was not much mollified when his cousin rejoined: — 

“ That is my fault ; I told Mr. Chetwode he could have 
the brougham. The carriage holds four, but anyhow you 
won’t mind sitting on the box on such a lovely night, will 
you ? I thought you would be glad to have the chance of 
a cigar.” 

Archie grunted ; and while Cicely, who had risen, was 
making her way towards the ball-room, to say good-night 
to her entertainers, he muttered to Bobby : — 

“ That brute has been swilling champagne the whole 
evening. If we could have got away a little sooner, there 
might have been some hope of his being able to behave 
himself ; but by this time he must be as drunk as an owl. 
I’d put him on the box, only I suppose he’d roll off.” 

Morton was subsequently offered the box-seat, which he 
declined, with thanks. Pie was not drunk, but he might 


io6 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


without much exaggeration have been called tipsy. He 
was also in high spirits ; for he had witnessed from a 
distance his sister’s prolonged conversation with Mark 
Chetwode, and Archie’s evident ill-humor struck him in 
the light of a capital joke. He beguiled the homeward 
way with some facetious sallies at the expense of Lady 
Dare’s guests, most of which were expressed in language 
which shocked Miss Skipwith beyond measure, and con- 
sequently amused Cicely. The latter was in need of any 
amusement that she could obtain, because her own spirits 
were somewhat depressed. She had an uncomfortable 
feeling that she had not behaved very well to poor Bobby, 
and a still more uncomfortable feeling that he had behaved 
with a good deal of magnanimity to her ; she could have 
wished also to explain to him — had it seemed possible to 
do that without exciting false hopes— that she was not and 
never had been in love with any man, and that she believed 
herself to be constitutionally incapable of such emotions. 
But there are things which it is always extremely difficult 
to say, because nobody will ever believe them ; so that 
perhaps it was just as well for Bobby’s peace of mind that 
his entreaties had been met by an uncompromising nega- 
tive. After all he was very young, and the wounds of 
young people heal quickly. 

Meanwhile Morton, encouraged by his aunt’s deprecatory 
murmurs and his sister’s laughter, was not mincing 
matters. Not a good word had he to say for a single 
person whom he had met that evening, except Mark Chet- 
wode, whom he boldly averred to be the only civilized 
human being in the entire countryside. 

“ Chetwode is a gentleman,” said he. Clever fellow 
too — uncommonly clever fellow. Not much use for the 
Miss Dares to set their caps at him, I can tell them ! ” 

“Perhaps they won’t,” observed Cicely. “ He isn’t 
such a very great catch, you see.” 

“ My dear girl,” returned her brother, with much 
solemnity, “ a man like Chetwode would be a catch if he 
hadn’t a brass farthing in the world. You may take my 
word for that. He’ll get into Parliament and distinguish 
himself, you’ll see ; he won’t be content to vegetate down 
her all his life. I should say,” continued Morton with as 
much gravity and deliberation as if he had known what he 
was talking about, “ that with a little, capital — of course a 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


107 


little capital is necessary to start with — Chetwode might 
rise to almost any position.” 

And it is highly probable that he would have proceeded 
to hint in plain terms at the quarter whence the requisite 
capital might appropriately be derived, had he not been 
preserved from wrecking his schemes in that way by the 
termination of the drive. 


, CHAPTER XIV. 

MR. BLIGH STATES HIS INTENTIONS. 

One fine morning, not long after the ball at which he had 
entertained his friends and acquaintances, Sir George Dare 
mounted his old bay horse, and lost a button off the back 
of His trousers in the process. This, coming on the top 
of other vexatious incidents, saddened him and brought 
gloomy ideas into his mind ; so that he shook his head 
very mournfully as he jogged down the drive. 

It comes to this,” he sighed, that I must either give 
up wearing braces altogether, or have the library steps 
brought out every time that I want to get upon a horse’s 
back. A pretty state of things for a man of my age, who 
has always led an abstemious life ! ” 

As, however, his temperament was optimistic, and as 
exercise and fresh air always did him good, he presently 
became more cheerful, remembering that, after all, he 
might be a great deal worse off. ITiere was poor Bligh, 
for instance, to whom he was about to pay a neighborly 
visit — Bligh, who was his junior by a long way and was a 
helpless cripple, simply waiting for death. 

“ Waiting for death,” soliloquized Sir George, “ that’s 
all that can be said about him ; and with no prospect of 
dying comfortably either ; for it must be deuced unpleasant 
to have such a rascal of a son, and see him standing there 
ready to step into your shoes. Thank God, I’ve no cause 
to be ashamed of any son of mine — though I wish one of 
’em wasn’t such a stoopid young ass ! ” 

Sir George, who was fond of Bobby and proud of him, 
would have turned purple with anger if anybody else had 
ventured so to describe the Benjamin of the family ; but 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


108 

it certainly was tiresome of the boy to have abortive love 
affairs and bolt off to London on some flimsy pretext 
before his leave had expired. Bobby had departed, and 
the flimsy pretext alluded to had been outwardly acquiesced 
in ; but the mishap which had befallen him was no secret 
to any of his near relations, because he had been unable to 
conceal it from Jane, and Jane had imparted it to her 
mother, who had told Sir George, and reticence had never 
been one of Sir George’s many fine qualities. Not that he 
meant to say a word about the matter to Bligh ; that 
would be a very useless and undignified thing to do. Girls 
must be allowed to choose their own husbands^ or at any 
rate to reject aspirants whom they may have the bad taste 
not to fancy, and Lady Dare was much mistaken in think- 
ing that Cicely was the sort of girl who would submit to 
have a husband chosen for her. 

As a matter of fact. Lady Dare did not think so ; but 
Jane did. Jane was convinced that unless some disin- 
terested person intervened Cicely would be talked into 
marrying her cousin, and Jane’s conviction, which had 
reached her father’s ear, may have had something to do with 
that honest gentleman’s sudden anxiety to inform himself 
as to the state of poor Bligh’s health. But if so he was 
quite unconscious of it. He had told Lady Dare, who 
had suggested the intervention of the disinterested person, 
that that was all stuff and nonsense, and although he had 
agreed with her that it would be very nice if Bobby were 
to make a good marriage, and had not disputed her asser- 
tion that Bobby was both handsomer and more lovable 
than Archie, he had at the same time reminded her that 
Cicely appeared to be of a different opinion. 

On reaching the Priory he was informed that Mr. Bligh 
was out in the garden, and there, reclining in a sheltered, 
sunny spot, he found the invalid, whom he greeted with 
much heartiness. 

Well, Bligh,” said he, “it’s a great pleasure to see 
you out of doors again, Lm sure ! And how are you ? 
Progressing, I hope — progressing, eh ? ” 

“Oh, Pm progressing,” answered Mr. Bligh, with a 
little laugh. “ In fact I may say that I’m progressing very 
fast indeed — down the hill.” 

Sir George began to say: — ‘^‘Oh, nonsense, my dear 
fellow, you mustn’t talk like that! You’re all right; we 


MISADVENTURE. 


109 


shall have you about again before long.” But while he 
was speaking he looked at the other’s pale, waxen face, 
and suddenly felt ashamed of uttering such absurdities ; 
so that his sentence, which had started so bravely, died 
away feebly before reaching its conclusion. 

To relieve his embarrassment Mr. Bligh at once changed 
the subject, and presently made some inquiry about 
Bobby, which enabled Sir George to say : — 

“ Ah, poor boy. I’m here partly on his behalf. Asked 
me to say good-bye to you all for him. He has been 
ordered off to the East India Station, you know.” 

“ So Cicely told me,” observed Mr. Bligh ; “ but I didn’t 
know that he had to join his ship immediately.” 

“ He won’t have to join for a week or two, I believe ; 
but he said he must go up to London to get his outfit. 
The fact of the matter is that he wanted to get away — and 
no fool he ! /didn’t attempt to detain him, though of 
course his mother was distressed.” 

Sir George glanced at Mr. Bligh and saw that his mean- 
ing had been understood. He did not, however, obtain 
much comfort or encouragement from the latter, who only 
smiled and remarked : 

“ He is one of a tolerably large number. Happily for 
him he is a sailor, and sailors have short memories.” 

“ I don’t know so much about that,” returned Sir George, 
rather grumpily j “ we Dares aren’t weathercocks, what- 
ever we may be. At the same time, I am quite aware — 
and so I told his mother — that you have other intentions. 
No doubt it’s just as well that he should get away, poor 
fellow ! How long do you expect your son to stay with 
you?” 

“ He hasn’t spoken to me about his plans,” Mr. Bligh 
answered, “ but I should think that, under the circum- 
stances, he would see the propriety of being in at the 
death. It’s customary, you know; and I have been much 
impressed of late by Morton’s earnest desire to do what 
is customary.” 

Sir George suddenly broke out into strong language. 
As a matter of principle, no one was more firmly convinced 
than he that it is both wrong and unlike a gentleman to 
swear ; but surely it is justifiable to resort to any remedy 
in order to secure yourself against a fit of apople.xy, and 
his good friend Bligh had the nack of e.xasperating him 


T lO 


MJSADJ'f.M'UKK. 


beyond endurance. His observations were somewhat 
incoherent, but the upshot of them was that it was down- 
right disgusting; and Mr. Bligh agreed meditatively that 
perhaps it was rather disgusting, when you came to think 
of it. The situation, however, was not of his creating, 
and he was at a loss to understand why he was being 
scolded. 

Sir George said : — 

“ Nobody is scolding you, Bligh ; but if you don’t want 
to make a man lose his temper — I believe that’s just what 
you do want, though — you shouldn’t talk in such an un- 
natural way.” 

“ I diought I was suiting myself to my subject,” answered 
Mr. Bligh, mildly. “ For the matter of that, nothing that 
happens is unnatural. Otherwise it couldn’t happen, you 
see.” 

This puzzled Sir George, who rubbed the back of his 
head and endeavored to argue the point. Thus he was 
led away into an irrelevant discussion, and had not yet 
ascertained whether the Abbotsport property was really 
to pass into the hands of the obnoxious Morton or not 
when the colloquy was interrupted by Archie’s appearance 
upon the scene. 

'Fhat young man, who strolled up with his hands in his 
pockets, looked as if he didn’t know what to do with him- 
self — which indeed was his case. He said disconsolately 
that Gicely had gone off somewhere to visit the poor, as 
usual, and that Morton was asleep in the smoking-room — 
also as usual. After which he sat down upon the ground 
and heaved a profound sigh. Sir George chatted for a few 
minute's longer, and then took his leave, saying : — 

“ Well, I ought to be going home or I shall be late for 
luncheon. Very glad to have seen you, Bligh, and — and 
— I hope you’ll be better soon. And you must keep up 
your spirits, you know— you must keep up your spirits ! ” 

“ He’s a good old fellow, that,” remarked Archie, when 
the worthy baronet was out of hearing. “ Did he come 
over here just to ask how you were ? ” 

“ He is a very good old fellow,” replied Mr. Bligh, 
although I don’t think he came over solely for that pur- 
pose. I believe that one of his reasons for coming was 
that he — or possibly Lady Dare — is very anxious to know 
whether I mean my son to inherit this place,’' 


MISAD VENTURE. 


I 


‘‘ What business is that of theirs ? ” 

“ It is to some extent their business. One can't be 
altogether independent of one’s neighbors, and there is a 
certain kind of neighbor who can give one a good deal of 
annoyance if he chooses. However, I didn’t tell Sir 
George what my intentions were. But I think,” added 
Mr. Bligh, after a short pause, “that I will tell you, if you 
don’t mind listening to me for a minute or two. Now that 
my mind is made up, I should like you to know it. Did 
it ever occur to you that I might put you in Morton’s 
place ? ” 

“No,” answered the young man, looking up wonder- 
ingly, “ I can’t say that it ever did.” 

“ I’m glad of that ; because I don’t mean to commit 
such an act of injustice, much as I should like to commit 
it. If I felt free to consult my own inclinations, I should 
choose to be succeeded by somebody who would be con- 
tent to lead the ordinary life of an English country gentle- 
man. I have been interested in my tenants and in the 
fishing people, and I have tried to do what I could for 
them, and the idea that my work will be either undone or 
allowed to die a natural death isn’t, of course, quite ])leasant 
to me. Still I couldn’t deprive Morton of his birthright. 
After thinking it over, that is the conclusion to which I 
have come. The excuse, it seems to me, would be insuffi- 
cient, and I need not weary you by going into reasons 
and particulars. But I have thought myself justified in 
leaving him only a life interest in the estates, which will 
pass on his death to his eldest son, or, if he never has any 
sons, to Cicely. For you I have made such provision as 
it seemed right and reasonable to make. You won’t be a 
rich man, Archie, but you will be independent — which, 
after all, means much the same thing.” 

Archie made the unintelligible mumble which is all that 
can be expected of a man to whom an announcement of 
that kind has been made, and a pause ensued. Then Mr. 
Bligh, who had been scrutinizing the young man with a 
faintly amused air, resumed : — 

“ I wonder whether you would mind my speaking to you 
with brutal and unceremonious frankness? ” 

Archie raised his blue eyes wonderingly and answered : — 
“ I don’t mind you saying anything that you want to 
say. Uncle Wilfrid.” 


II2 


MISADVENTURE. 


“ Thank you. Well, I want to say something that may 
perhaps make you blush ; but I will look the other way 
while I am saying it. You must try to forgive an unem- 
ployed cripple for having had eyes sharp enough to per- 
ceive that you are smitten with my daughter, and maybe 
you will forgive me the more easily when I tell you that it 
has given me the greatest possible satisfaction to perceive 
that such is the case. If I had to choose a husband for 
her out of the whole world, I should choose you ; and — 
in short, my dear fellow, I wish you good luck with all my 
heart.” 

Here Mr. Bligh held out his hand to his nephew, who 
took it, expressing his gratitude as Warmly as a somewhat 
limited vocabulary would allow. He thought his uncle 
was treating him with very great kindness and generosity, 
and he said as much. 

“ Well, no,” answered the elder man, laughing, I’m 
afraid I can’t claim much credit for either. You have all 
the personal qualities that one is entitled to ask for in a 
son-in-law, but, in addition to that, circumstances give you 
a special value in my eyes. I suppose feeling one’s end 
so near makes one a little wanting in delicacy and inclined 
to say things which, as a general rule, are only hinted at, 
but as I have begun by being so candid, I may as well go 
on. Looking to the future, I can’t but be aware that Mor- 
ton is not likely to marry, and that his life is not likely to 
be a long one. Consequently I foresee that some day my 
place will be taken by Cicely’s husband, and it would be a 
comfort to me to know that Cicely’s husband will be one 
of my own blood. I only mention this by way of explain- 
ing myself ; your own good sense will tell you that it would 
be a very great mistake for you to count upon chances, or 
even upon probabilities. I trust I haven’t shocked you 
by my cold-bloodedness.” 

It is not impossible that Archie might have been just the 
least bit in the world shocked, had he been in a calmer con- 
dition of mind ; but as it was, he was too excited and 
anxious for criticism, and what he chiefly wanted to know 
was whether he could at once declare himself to Cicely 
with any prospect of success. 

‘‘ Really,” said his uncle, laughing, ‘‘you ought to be a 
better judge of that than I. I can’t, of course, do any- 
thing to help you ; all I can say is that you have my best 
wishes.” 


MISADVENTURE. 


113 

This was, no doubt, the proper attitude to take up, and, 
whatever may be thought of Mr. Bligh’s discretion, it can- 
not be said that up to that point he had used any undue 
influence for the furtherance of his schemes. But later in 
the day he did, though without intending it, transgress to 
some extent the limits of strict neutrality. Cicely — as 
indeed was a common enough practice with her — did not 
put in an appearance at luncheon, but at five o’clock she 
found her father in the library and seated herself by his 
side to pour out his tea for him ; and then it was that she 
heard the news of Bobby’s precipitate departure, which 
seemed both to distress and anger her. 

“ He might at least have taken the trouble to come and 
say good-bye to us,” she remarked. 

“ Taking everything into consideration,” answered Mr. 
Bligh, with a smile, “ perhaps some allowance may be made 
for his bad manners.” 

“Oh, you know, then ? ” 

“ Well, I can guess. Sir George didn’t leave a great 
deal to my imagination, though we avoided particulars. 
From your guilty expression, I presume that the poor 
youth must have gone the length of putting a plain question 
and getting a plain answer.” 

Cicely nodded, rather sadly. She was not much given 
to confidences, but she had never had any secrets from her 
father, and she was the more willing now to tell him what 
had occurred because her conscience was ill at ease. Did 
he, she asked, consider that she had behaved badly? 
Had she been to blame? Did he think that Bobby was 
very angry with her ? 

“ It seems so horrid and cruel to have sent him away 
like this before his time ; and I am afraid his people will 
hate me for it,” she said penitently. 

Mr. Bligh, however, could not be brought to view this 
matter in a serious light. He was one of the most kind- 
hearted men in the world, but he had forgotten, or perhaps 
had never known, the sufferings attendant upon unrequited 
love, and he did not think it probable that a healthy 
young sailor would find much difficulty in forgetting the 
girl he had left behind him. These unromantic sentiments 
he imparted to Cicely, and was amused to notice that if 
they reassured her they did not altogether please her. 
Women may always be trusted to think kindly of a dis- 


14 


M7SA D VENTURE, 


consolate lover ; but, whatever they may say, they can’t 
readily pardon a lover who has found consolation. 

And it may be that her father’s philosophical remarks 
produced a certain effect upon Cicely, which, to do him 
justice, he had not meant to produce ; for when, as seemed 
but natural after such a conversation, he went on to speak 
of other admirers of hers, and mentioned one in particular 
whom, if he were in her place, he should rate more highly 
than all the rest put together, she only shrugged her 
shoulders and said : — 

“ Oh, he is very nice and I like him very much. I dare- 
say he would do as well as anybody, if there must be some- 
body. But must there be somebody ? ” 

“No,” answered Mr. Bligh ; “but I hope there will be 
somebody. You don’t like me to say 1 shan’t be here 
much longer ; yet that is what I am always thinking of, and 
I am quite sure I should have a better chance of living 
for another year or so if I were easy in my mind about 
you.” 

In saying this he unquestionably went further than he 
ought to have done ; but he conceived himself to be merely 
stating a fact. Nothing could have been less in accord- 
ance with his desires than that his life. should be prolonged 
by his daughter’s marriage with a man whom she did not 
love. His own impression was that she really did love 
Archie, but that she probably was not as yet aware of it. 
It had always been so much a matter of course that every 
young man who came near her should prostrate himself 
before her. So that there seemed to be no great harm in 
saying what an honest, manly young fellow Archie was, 
and how straight he had always kept, although his regiment 
had the name of being a fast one, and what a good sports- 
man he had showm himself, and how well he seemed to be 
adapted for country life. 

“ I was telling him this morning,” continued Mr. Bligh 
with a sigh, “ that I would very much rather leave the 
Priory to him than to Morton, who will hate the place. 
But that can’t be.” 

“ I suppose not,” said Cicely, doubtfully. 

“ Oh, no ; it wouldn’t do. I hesitated for a time, but 
my mind is quite made up now. Morton must have the 
place for life, and the remainder must be to his son, sup- 
posing that he ever has a son. Happily, I can leave you 


M/SA D VENTURE, 


”5 


a considerable sum of money without pinching him, and I 
have always intended to provide for Archie. Supposing 
that things should fall out as they may, you and he, by 
putting your means together, would have enough to live 
the sort of life that I should like to think of you as living. 
I mean that you could have a moderate-sized country 
house and a sufficiency of horses. Sometimes I have 
thought that possibly Upton Chetwode might suit you. 
But these are only a sick man’s fancies,” concluded Mr. 
Bligh, laughing. I amuse myself with fancies, having so 
little else to do. Occasionally also I torment myself ; and 
in one of my blackest visions I see you established in a 
London house, with your Aunt Susan mounting guard over 
you. Heavens ! how wretched you would be ! ” 

Well, at any rate, this man was not selfish. Perhaps he 
did not know what was most likely to ensure his daughter’s 
happiness ; perhaps he did not sufficiently realize that the 
destiny of every individual on earth is, or ought to be, the 
property of that individual. All his life he had been accus- 
tomed to be a ruler, and in some measure to sway the des- 
tinies of a large number of dependants. But of himself 
he had thoughr little enough ; and this was what struck 
Cicely, as she rose and looked down upon his somewhat 
wistful face. 

“ You are always doing things, or wanting to do things, 
for other people, papa,” she said. “ We must try to show 
our gratitude by pleasing ourselves, in order to please 
you.” 

Then she bent down and kissed him and left the room. 
There were tears in her eyes, he noticed, and he wondered 
why. He did not, however, imagine that they were caused 
by any dread of the future which he had sketched out for 
her. 


CHAPTER XV. 

MARK MAKES PEACE. 

♦ 

Her father’s avowal of his wishes did not come upon Cicely 
as any surprise. She had divined them some time back — 
in truth they had not been very carefully disguised — and 


ii6 


M/S A D VEN TURE. 


although he had not been quite as explicit with her as he 
had been with Archie, he might have been so and yet told 
her little that she did not already understand. Evidently 
there was something more than a possibility that Morton 
might die without issue, and just as evidently it must have 
been necessary to make arrangements for the succession, 
in that event, of a Bligh worthy of the name. Now there 
was- but one such man in existence besides the present 
owner of the property ; and what could be more natural 
than that that owner should desire to bring about a match 
which in time might have the effect of restoring his daugh- 
ter to the position jdi authority and benificence of which 
his own demise would deprive her ? The match, in fact, 
v/as undoubtedly a desirable one. Cicely was able to con- 
template it without repugnance, if without enthusiasm. 
She was not in love with Archie, but then she was not in 
love with anybody else, nor likely to be, and she worshiped 
her father. Her feeling at the moment was that' if, by 
marrying her cousin, she could relieve her hither’s mind of 
anxiety and so prolong his life, she would not hesitate for 
a moment to make what, after all, could hardly be called a 
sacrifice. Nobody, at any rate, should su'spect that it was 
a sacrifice. One must do these things with a good grace 
if one is to do them at all ; and why Cicely, who was not 
given to weeping, should have found it necessary to dry 
her eyes at frequent intervals for half an hour after coming 
to this conclusion it would be useless to inquire, since siie 
herself did not know. She suj^posed that she was crying 
because she hated so to talk or think about her father’s 
death — which, to be sure, was a plausible reason enough. 

When she had dressed for dinner she returned to the 
library, where she found an unexpected guest in conversa- 
tion with her father. 

You will think that I am developing into a very obtru- 
sive neighbor,” Mark Chetwode said, as he rose to shake 
hands with her, ‘‘ but your brother must bear the blame. 
He came to see me this afternoon and insisted on bringing 
me back with him, though I assure you that I defended 
myself to the be^t of my power.” 

“Didn’t you want to come, then?” asked Cecily, 
laughing. 

“ Ah, that is a question which requires no answer. But 
I know that in England a man who presents himself at the 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


117 

dinner-hour without an invitation takes a very great liberty. 
In Russia it is different.’’ 

“ My dear sir, didn’t I invite you? ” called out Morton 
from the arm-chair in which he was lounging at the other 
end of the room. “ Let it be supposed that we are Rus- 
sians, if that will make you any happier.” 

Mr. Chetwode will be good enough to suppose nothing 
of the kind,” returned Cicely. “ We are English, and so 
is he ; and if he were anything else he wouldn’t be half as 
welcome as he is, I can tell him.” 

In point of fact, his presence was particularly welcome 
to her that evening ; because, after what had passed be- 
tween her and her father, she was conscious of a novel and 
not very agreeable sensation of embarrassment, which pre- 
vented her from talking to Archie with her accustomed 
freedom. Her father, she was aware, had been making 
confidential statements to Archie as well as to her, and it 
was more than probable that he had received confidential 
statements in return. Under the circumstances, it was a 
relief to have to exert oneself for the entertainment of an 
outsider. 

No great exertion, however, was required in order to 
entertain Mr. Chetwode upon this occasion. It was rather 
he who exerted himself, and when he chose to exert himself 
he could be very pleasant company. Without seeming to 
take any trouble about it (though of course such a thing 
can’t be done without a good deal of trouble), he contrived 
to draw everybody round the dinner-table into a conversa- 
tion which he turned hither and thither as he pleased. 
What was more, he managed to put them all upon pretty 
good terms with themselves, and consequently with him. 
Meanwhile he kept his faculties of observation on the alert 
and made a few trifling discoveries. It did not take him 
long to detect Archie’s subdued excitement and Cicely’s 
somewhat forced gaiety, nor was he slow to note the cir- 
cumstance that Mr. Bligh’s eyes kept wandering from his 
daughter to his nephew and back again. But these things 
were far from disquieting him, The first act of the little 
domestic drama was drawing towards a close, he thought, 
and its conclusion would clear the ground. Obviously the 
nephew, strongly supported by the uncle, was about to 
make his proposal; (Obviously, too, he was about to be 
rejected : for Mark was convinced that Cicely’s affection 


ii8 


JI//SA D VENTURE, 


for her cousin was of a i)urcly cousinly nature. He, for 
his part, therefore, had at present nothing to do but to 
bide his time and make himself unobtrusively agreeable. 

“ My dear,'*’ said Miss Skipwith to Cicely, when the two 
ladies had returned to the drawing-room, a vast apartment 
which was seldom occupied at any other hour of the day, 
“ I don’t, as you know, pretend to any great insight into 
character, but it does seem to me that Mr. Chetwode is a 
most remarkable man.” 

“ Very remarkable,” agreed Cicely, who was not thinking 
about Mr. Chetwode at the moment. 

“ He has so much more information than most of the 
young men whom oile meets nowadays ; and then his 
manners are so very superior to theirs ! To be sure it is 
no great compliment to him to say that ; because some of 
them really have no manners at all. Look at your cousin 
Archie, for instance. I daresay he doesn’t mean to be 
rude, but he has a way of yawning under one’s very nose 
which I can’t think gentlemanlike ; and, to my mind, he 
is not nearly careful enqugh about the language that he uses 
in the presence of ladies.” 

Has he been saying anything indecent ? ” asked Cicely, 
absently. 

“ My dear Cicely ! Of course, I only meant that he was 
too much given to slang expressions. Mr. Chetwode, if 
you have noticed, never interlards his conversation with 
slang. Mr. Chetwode, in short,” concluded Miss Skipwith 
emphatically, is a thorough gentleman.” 

“ The inference,” observed Cicely, is flattering to us 
all. If Archie isn’t a gentleman I suppose the rest of us 
must be snobs ; for there’s no getting over the fact that his 
blood is the same as ours.” 

“ It is not altogether a question of blood, my dear ; and 
I am sure that I never denied that your cousin was a 
gentleman. One may disapprove of a person notwith- 
standing In's being a gentleman by birth.” 

That Miss Skipwith disapproved of Archie was an old 
story, and lier motives for so doing were no secret to her 
niece ; but when, encouraged by the latter’s silence, the old 
lady went on to say that no true gentleman was scheming 
or self-seeking, that greed of money was peculiarly repellant 
in the young, and a good deal more to the like effect, Cicely 
grew a little impatient. 


M/SADVEA^rURE. 


1 19 

“ If I wanted to create a prejudice against anyone, I 
sliould not stt to work in your way. Aunt Susan,” she 
remarked. “One can liardly expect to succeed unless 
one can hit upon some charges which have at least a 
faint show of probability about them. But of course 
you’re not a good calumniator, you poor old Aunt Susan,” 
she added, softening at the sight of Miss Skipwith’s con- 
science-stricken countenance : “ how should you be ? And 
you’re quite wrong about Archie — if that matters.” 

So saying she moved towards the piano, by way of clos- 
ing the conversation, while Miss Skipwith sighed heavily. 

In the dfning-room things were not going on quite so 
smoothly as they had done before the departure of the 
ladies. As soon as the men were left to themselves Mr. 
Bligh apologized to his guest and requested his son to do 
the honors for him. He had had a rather tiring day, he 
said, and felt quite worn out. 

“ I daresay Mr. Chetwode will kindly excuse my lack of 
ceremony in consideration of my infirmity.” 

So his servant was rung for and presently he was wheeled 
away. 

“ Breaking up fast,” remarked Morton laconically, after 
the door had closed. 

“ Oh, I hope not,” said Mark, wishing to be polite. 

Mr. Bligh’s heir-apparent laughed rather disagreeably. 

“ No amount of hoping will keep the governor alive much 
longer,” answered he ; “ and as far as that goes, I shouldn’t 
think he himself cared about living. What’s the use of 
remaining alive when you’ve lost the use of your legs ? 
You’re only a burden to yourself and to others.” 

Archie cracked a walnut with unnecessary noise, threw 
the crackers down upon the table and muttered something 
under his breath. 

I beg your pardon,” said Morton, turning round upon 
him at once with a deferential smile ; “ did you make a 
remark ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” answered Archie, “ I made a remark. But per- 
haps I had better not repeat it.” 

Mark hastily threw himself into the breach with some 
question about the vintage of the claret they were drinking ; 
but Morton, who may have been a little under the influence 
of that excellent wine, or may have been determined to 
exasperate his cousin — possibly both causes were at work 
— did not choose to be put to silence. 


120 


MISADVENTURE. 


“ I always think,” said he, throwing himself back in his 
chair and nursing his leg comfortably, th*at the humbug 
of everyday life is the most gratuitous of the many miseries 
which we are in the habit of inflicting upon ourselves in 
this country. It serves absolutely no purpose, because 
nobody is deceived by it ; it makes political speeches 
intolerably dull and leading articles simply unreadable. 
One must forgive lawyers and parsons and diplomatists, 
because it’s their trade to say what they don’t think, and 
their bread and butter depends upon it ; but why the deuce 
shouldn’t the rest of us acknowledge what we can’t conceal? 
In my own humble way I endeavor to do so ; and when a 
man is palpably dying I don’t pretend to think that he will 
live for another twenty years.” 

Mark tried to give the discussion an academical turn, 
and for a short space of time he was successful. He 
could not, however, do the whole of the talking himself, 
and so Morton soon found an opportunity of harking back 
to the original subject. 

“ Family affection,” said he, “ may be a very pretty 
thing where it exists ; but where it doesn’t exist, and 
where everybody knows that it doesn’t, one merely be- 
haves like a fool by making a show of it. When a man 
stands betwen me and a fortune, and when he happens to 
be afflicted with an incurable disease into the bargain, I 
confess that nothing seems to me more desirable than his 
removal to a happier sphere.” 

This was too much for Archie, who exclaimed : 

“ I believe you’re the only man in England, Morton, 
who would say such a thing as that about his father in his 
father’s house ! ” 

“ In all probability I am,” agreed Morton, imperturb- 
ably ; “that is just what I modestly venture to pride my- 
self upon. You’ll admit that I’m not the only man’^in 
England who holds such views ; my peculiarity consists in 
my expressing them. And, mind you, I shouldn’t for a mo- 
ment hesitate to express them to the governor himself.” 

“ Even you would hardly be such a blackguard as that ! ” 
cried Archie, hotly. 

If Morton’s object had been to make a short-tempered 
young man angry, he had attained it ; but his own temper, 
though of a very different order, was not in the least 
under his control, and for all his love of plain language, it 


MISADVENTURE. 


I2I 


did not please him to hear himself called a blackguard. 
He shot a singularly malevolent glance across the table at 
his cousin as he said : — 

“ All the same, you are quite as anxious as I am — a 
little more anxious, perhaps — to hear the governor’s will 
read. You have done your best, in your rather clumsy 
way, to cut me out ; but I shouldn’t wonder if you were to 
meet with a disappointment after all. Toadying doesn’t 
always pay.” 

“ I can’t submit to such a gross insult as that from any 
man,” Archie declared, jumping up. “ You must apologize 
for it at once, or either you or I must leave the house.” 

“ A more appalling threat I never heard,” chuckled 
Morton. “ It will be painful to lose you ; but I am afraid 
we must make up our minds to the loss, because I don’t 
intend to go, and I certainly don’t intend to apologize.” 

At this juncture Mark the pacificator thought it high 
time to intervene. 

“ Pardon me, gentlemen,” said he, with a certain air of 
authority, “ but you are both very much in the wrong. 
You have both said things which you do not really mean, 
and which I am sure you will see that you ought to re- 
tract.” 

Each of the disputants shook his head decisively, but 
Mark took no notice of that. He proceeded to point out 
that in a country like England, where the satisfaction 
which would be promptly demanded and granted else- 
where has been done away with by common consent, 
opprobrious epithets are clearly inadmissible. Then, with 
some adroitness, he observed that Morton could not 
actually believe in the very offensive charge which he had 
brought against his cousin, or he never would have put it 
into words. When one is apprehensive of being sup- 
planted, one does not carefully put one’s possible sup- 
planter in the right and oneself in the wrong. 

“ Of course,” he added, “ I know nothing of Mr. Bligh’s 
intentions and very little of his ethical standard ; but I 
know that if I had a son who had forced a guest of mine 
to leave my house by insulting him, I should feel that I 
owed every reparation to my guest and the sharpest pun- 
ishment I could inflict to my son.” 

By the time that he had finished his harangue he had 
made one of the men ashamed of himself and had frightened 


122 


. MIS AD VENTURE, 


the other ; and so the incident terminated with a somewhat 
grudging exchange of apologies. The cousins, it need 
scarcely be said, were no better friends than they had been 
before ; but they perceived the expediency of adjourning 
their quarrel. Morton went straight off to the smoking- 
room, while the other two joined Miss Skipwith and 
Cicely ; and as the latter was still seated at the piano, 
Mark contrived to exchange a few words with her in 
private, under cover of the resonant chords which she 
continued to strike upon that instrument. 

“ If you are not careful there will be bloodshed in this 
house,” said he laughingly. “ I have patched up' a peace 
for to-night ; but I do not answer for the future.” 

Cicely looked alarmed. 

“ Have Morton and Archie fallen out ? ” she asked, 
anxiously. 

“ Very much so. At home — in Russia, I mean — I 
could have done nothing ; matters went too far. As it 
was I induced them to shake hands : quittes a reconi- 
mcncerE 

“They must not be allowed to quarrel!” exclaimed 
Cicely. “ It would distress papa beyond everything ; and 
there is really no reason why they should quarrel.” 

“ As for that, of course I do not know ; but I doubt 
whether they can be kept within bounds unless they are 
held back by strong hands. Could you, do you think, 
restrain your cousin? For your brother” — here Mark 
could not repress a look of contempt, which Cicely saw 
without resenting — “ I really believe that I may venture 
to make myself responsible.” 

Now this was very kind of Mr. Chetwode, and Cicely 
felt proportionately grateful to him. She endeavored to 
express her thanks, but had not much time for doing so, 
because Miss Skipwith and Archie, who had nothing to 
say to one another, very soon interrupted her. Mark, 
however, went away very well satisfied with his evening’s 
work. He had somewhat strengthened his hold over 
Morton, he had averted, what might have been a little 
dangerous, the elevation of Archie to the rank of an 
aggrieved person, and, best of all, he had established some- 
thing like a secret understanding with Miss Bligh. 


MISAD VENTURE, 


123 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Archie’s' triumph. 

While Cicely was dressing on the following morning she 
made up her mind to give her cousin a lecture. Although 
slie had been a good deal distressed at hearing that the 
dining-room had so nearly been made the scene of an 
unseemly brawl, Archie’s foolish behavior had at least had 
the effect of making her more comfortable in one respect, 
inasmuch as it had relieved her of the unwonted feeling of 
shyness in his presence with which she had been afflicted 
the night before. In her heart she rather liked him for 
attacking Morton, who, she was sure, had deserved it ; 
still he must certayily be lectured. 

So, as soon as breakfast was over, she followed him into 
the conservatory* whither he had betaken himself with a 
cigarette and a handful ^of letters, and drawing a wicker 
chair up to his side, seated herself upon it with an air of 
stern resolution. 

“ Archie,” said she, “ I am sorry to find that you can’t 
keep your word — or your temper either ! ” 

Archie raised a somewhat troubled countenance from 
his correspondence. 

“ Has that beast, Morton, been telling you anything?” 
he asked. 

“No, ‘that beast, Morton,’ has kept his own counsel. 
It was Mr. Chetwode who told me that he had had to drag 
you apart. Now, you know, Archie, you promised me 
that you wouldn’t quarrel with Morton.” 

“ I don’t think I quite promised that, did I ? I said I 
wouldn’t quarrel with him if I could help it, and goodness 
knows I have tried hard enough to helj) it ! But there 
must be limits to everybody’s patience and meekness. 
You don’t know what things that fellow says.” 

“ Why will you never understand that it doesn’t signify 
what he says ? ” 

“ I can’t help feeling that it does signify a little to me 


124 


M/s A D VENTURE, 


when he tells me that I have done my very best to cut him 
out of his inheritance, and that I came down here on pur- 
pose to ‘ toady ’ Uncle Wilfrid.” 

“ Did he say that ? ” 

“ Yes, ‘toady’ was the very word that he used. Ought 
I to have bowed and held my tongue ? ” 

“ Well — it isn’t true, you see ; and he only said it to 
enrage you, not because he believed it.” 

“ So Chetwode seemed to think; but I don’t know tliat 
one ought to be expected to submit to an insult just be- 
cause it is a palpable lie. However, I had told him a few 
minutes before that he was a blackguard — which he is — so 
that I had to some extent put myself in the wrong, and we 
ended by burying the hatchet.” 

“I’m afraid you buried it in some place where it can 
very easily be scratched up again. I don’t feel that I 
have much right to scold you, Archie, because you cer- 
tainly have been patient upon the whole, and you have 
had a good deal to put up with ; but will you waive your 
rights and be patient a little longer, for papa’s sake and 
mine ? ” 

The young man’s face brightened up wbnderfully at this 
appeal. 

“ Of course I will,” he answered. “ I’m not very good- 
tempered, I’m sorry to say, and sometimes I feel as if it 
would be a righteous dead to catch Morton by the throat 
and choke him. But I won’t choke him, or even tell him 
what I think of him again. After all, if he becomes un- 
bearable one can always go out of the room. Besides,” 
he added, with a sigh and a change of tone, “ I shan’t 
have many more chances of giving trouble, for I have just 
had orders to join at Aldershot on Friday, instead of a 
fortnight hence as I expected. It’s a horrid bore.” 

“ Will you think me very unkind if I say that I am glad ? ” 
asked Cicely. 

“ When Morton came you begged me not to leave you 
alone with him,” Archie remarked, rather reproachfully. 

“ Yes, because I didn’t think then that he would stay 
long ; but now I don’t see any prospect of getting rid of 
him, and though I quite believe that you will try your best 
to be forbearing, it isn’t pleasant for you or me or anybody 
to go on as we have been doing lately. As it is, we’ll 
manage to enjoy ourselves during your last few days. Now 


M/s A D VENTURE. 


125 


I must be off, or I shall get behind with all my morning’s 
duties.’' 

On her way through the hall she encountered Morton, 
to whom she thought it might be as w’ell to impart the 
news of Archie’s imminent departure, and who heard it 
with satisfaction which he made no attempt to disguise. 
Alorton, as it happened, had that morning received an 
urgent summons to London where certain private affairs of 
his, which have nothing to do with this narrative, demanded 
his attention ; but he had almost decided to let these 
affairs look after themselves as best they could, because he 
did not like the idea of leaving the enemy in possession of 
the field. Now, however, the case was altered. Archie 
might, it was true, offer himself to Cicely in the course of 
the next day or two ; but that he could not, under any 
circumstances, have prevented him from doing, and it was 
needless to keep strict watch and ward over a man who 
would soon be out of the way. When once he was gone, 
time would be upon the side of Cicely’s affectionate 
brother and Mark Chetwode. 

Morton, therefore, said: — 

“ I find I shall have to run up to London myself this 
afternoon. Only for three days, though ; so you needn’t 
shed tears. Let me see, this is Thursday, and I promised 
to dine with Chetwode on Monday. I think I could just 
manage to get through what I have to do by Monday even- 
ing, and I can drive straight to Upton Chetwode from the 
station. By the way, if you’re going to the back regions 
you might tell somebody that I shall want the brougham 
at three o’clock sharp.” 

At luncheon, when the whole party met, Morton was in 
high good humor and charmingly affable with everybody, 
actually offering to charge himself with any commissions 
that his aunt might desire to have executed in London. So 
pleased was he to notice that Cicely’s spirits had been in 
no way depressed by the intelligence which had exhila- 
rated his own that he announced his intention of buying 
her a birthday present. 

“ I don’t know when your birthday is, but as I probably 
forgot it last year and the year before, 1 have some arrears 
to make up.” 

Even for Archie he had a word or two of sour-sweet 
civility. 


126 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


“ Going back to your regiment, I hear. Well, I should 
think you will find Aldershot rather livelier than Abbols- 
port. Sorry we haven’t been able to make your stay 
pleasanter ; but our resources are limited, as you know. 
We’ll try to do better if you look us up next winter. I 
suppose you’ll hardly get leave again before then ? ” 

With a truly heroic effort, Archie summoned up a dis- 
torted smile, which nearly upset Cicely’s gravity, and 
grunted out “ Thanks.” To be spoken to as though he 
had been jMorton’s guest and to receive Morton’s apologies 
for the dullness of the Priory was indeed hard to bear. 
However, the man was going, and he had three happy 
days to look forward to ; at least, he hoped they would be 
happy, and in his anxiety to make them so it seemed to 
him wisest to put off till the last hour the momentous 
question upon which the happiness of his future life must 
depend. 

But when Morton had been whirled away in the brough- 
am, and when Cicely, of her own accord, invited him to 
walk with her as far as the gamekeeper’s cottage, where 
she had a sick child to visit, he felt so much encouraged 
that he began to reconsider that decision. After all, she 
already knew that he loved her ; would it not be better to 
tell her so plainly, instead of to keep hinting at it? To be 
at once accepted was more than he hoped for ; he would 
be quite satisfied with an admission that he need not al- 
together despair. No sooner, therefore, had he and his 
companion reached the outskirts of the woods through 
which their path lay than he drew a long breath and 
plunged head first into a subject to which he had made 
several futile attempts to lead up. 

“You said this morning,” he began, rather hoarsely, 
“ that we would enjoy ourselves during my last few days 
here. There is only one thing that can make me enjoy 
myself now, and I needn’t tell you what that is. Can you 
give it to me. Cicely ? ” 

The girl stood still, looking at him seriously and with a 
sort of kindly compassion. 

“ I don’t know,” she answered ; “ it depends upon how 
much you ask for.” 

Oh, I only ask for very little,” lie declared, eagerly. 
“ If you will but give me leave to hope that jicrhajis, some 
day, you may care for me a tenth jiart as much as 1 care 
for you, that shall be enough.” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


127 


And gaining courage, now that he was fairly under way, 
he launched forth into fervent protestations which, like all 
words that come straight from the heart, had a certain 
effect of eloquence, but of which it would scarcely be fair 
to give a verbatim report. 

When he paused. Cicely, who had resumed her walk, 
held out her hand to him and said, in a far humbler tone 
than was usual with her : — 

“ Thank you, Archie ; any woman might be proud to be 
loved by you, and I know very well how little I deserve to 
be loved in that way — but 1 suppose one’s deserts haven’t 
much to say to such questions. Now I want to tell you 
the exact truth. I wish I loved you as you love me ; but 
I don’t.” 

“ Of course you don’t ! ” interrupted Archie. “ I never 
dreamt of such a thing. I shall be more than content if you 
can care for me the least little bit.” 

“ I care a great deal,” Cicely answered ; “ but perhaps 
a great deal isn’t enough. I don’t think it is in my nature 
to fall desperately in love with anybody, and in many ways 
I seem to myself to be cut out for an old maid. But I 
know that nothing could make papa happier than to hear 
that we were engaged, and if we were married I think I 
could promise to be a good wife to you. It isn’t as if I 
liked anyone else better,” she added, almost depre- 
catingly. 

Archie had never anticipated being met in such a spirit 
as that. He was overjoyed, and could only stammer out 
incoherent phrases of delight and gratitude. 

“ But, Cicely,” he broke off suddenly, “ will you be 
happy with me? That is the question.” 

She shook her head. 

“ No,” she answered, with a calmer insight into the 
future than he could as yet attain to, “ that isn’t the ques- 
tion. The question is whether you will be happy with me. 
What satisfies you now may not satisfy you always ; you 
may think that if I am not in love with you at this moment 
I shall be before long — and then you may be disap- 
pointed.” 

Of course that was just what he did think, and most 
people would have told him that, under the circumstances, 
he was fully justified in so thinking. A man when he is in 
love is aware of the fact ; but it is said — truly or untruly — 


128 


M/SAD VENTURE. 


that women are often unconscious of their own sentiments, 
and there is also an impression, so general that it can 
hardly be altogether devoid of foundation, to the effect that 
in nine cases out of ten a wife will end by loving her hus- 
band unless he treats her badly. Archie, however, as was 
but natural, disclaimed such ambitious aspirations. He 
was willing and thankful to take all risks, he declared, and 
it was quite impossible that he could incur any disappoint- 
ments. 

Well, whatever the future might have in store for him, 
he had not much to complain of in the present. Cicely 
had no idea of doing things by halves, and since Archie 
was to be her husband, it was her duty, she thought, to 
please him. Her efforts in that direction were quite suc- 
cessful and met with their reward ; because in pleasing 
him she also to some extent pleased herself. It is, no 
doubt, pleasant to be adored. Besides, she was really 
very fond of Archie. 

The gamekeeper’s little daughter was in luck that after- 
noon ; for not only did she receive a visit from Miss Cicely 
(whom she loved, yet of whom she was considerably in 
awe), but after a time a very nice gentleman, who had 
been waiting about in the garden, stepped in, cracked 
some excellent jokes, and, on leaving, slipped nothing less 
than a golden sovereign into her small palm ! Indeed, it 
is well that that did not happen to be one of Cicely’s days 
for going the round of Abbotsport, otherwise it is to be 
feared that night would have fallen upon some distressing 
scenes of intemperance. 

When one is exceptionally happy it is only human that one 
should wish to give others a chance of being happy too, if 
they can manage it ; but one can’t expect everybody to 
drink one’s health, and Miss Skipwith was very much dis- 
inclined to pay Archie that compliment on being requested 
to do so, the same evening, by her brother-in-law. Miss 
Skipwith could not but feel that Cicely was throwing her- 
self away sadly ; added to which the triumph of Archie 
was very bitter to her. When Mr. Bligh, in the exuber- 
ance of his satisfaction, proposed the above toast after 
dinner, the old lady raised her glass to her lips and set it 
down again with its contents undiminished. She became, 
however, a little more reconciled to the engagement when 
she was subsequently informed that Archie’s triumph was 


MISAD VENTURE, 


129 


not quite of the kind that she had imagined, and that it 
was not in contemplation to make him inheritor of his 
uncle’s estates. That was satisfactory in so far as it 
served to clear his character ; but it was melancholy to 
think that Morton, not Cicely, was destined to reign at the 
Priory, and she could not resist saying as much to her 
informant, who answered : — 

“ I am quite of your opinion, Susan ; it is melancholy. 
Nevertheless it is inevitable ; so we may as well put a 
bright face upon it.” 

When Mr. Bligh spoke in that tone of voice his sister- 
in-law always succumbed. He was a man, who, as re- 
garded trifles, preferred giving in to being worried, so that 
she not unfrequently found it to be her duty to worry him ; 
but in matters of more importance he took his own way, 
and had a quiet and convincing fashion of letting those 
about him understand that he meant to do so. Miss Skip- 
with, therefore, endeavored to put on a bright face, 
which feat was the more easy of accomplishment because 
Cicely’s face was so bright. The main thing, after all, 
was that Cicely should be happy. 

And happy Cicely certainly appeared to be. During 
the next three days she rode, walked and talked with 
Archie continually, and did not weary of his company. 
No doubt she saw him at his best, which she had not 
always done of late ; but after making all deductions, 
the (sict remained that he was, as she had told him, a 
man of whose love any woman might be proud, and 
she did not regret her choice. Once or twice, to be 
sure, she thought with a pang of poor Bobby ; but per- 
haps Bobby would not hear of her engagement before 
he had reached his tropical destination, and by that 
time his wound would probably have healed. The 
engagement, it was agreed, was not to be formally an- 
nounced as yet, nor was any day fixed for the marriage. 

“I can’t leave papa with only Aunt Susan to attend 
him,” Cicely said ; and Archie acquiesced. It was only 
too plain that the delay stipulated for was not likely to be 
a very long one. 

Mr. Bligh, for his part, was in no hurry to get rid of his 
daughter, and thought it as well that the young man should 
return to duty for a time. He wished him, however, to 
send in his papers before his marriage, and this Archie 

5 


130 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


expressed his willingness to do. Indeed, when the day 
came for his departure he felt very much inclined to send 
them in forthwith. . 

“ I beg you will do no such thing ! ” said Cicely, laugh- 
ing. “ Have you forgotten that Morton comes back to- 
night ? ” 

“ I’m not afraid of him,” answered Archie. 

“ Perhaps not ; but I am. At least I should be in per- 
petual terror of your devouring one another if you were 
both living in the house. No, I should prefer your remain- 
ing at Aldershot until he has accustomed his mind to the 
idea that you will be his brother-in-law some day. It’s a 
merciful thing that you will have left before he arrives.” 

“ I suppose I had better go up by the three-thirty train,” 
observed Archie ruefully. 

“ That depends upon whether you want to be at Aider- 
shot this evening or not. If not, you might stay until 
after dinner ; because Morton is going to dine at Upton 
Chetwode and intends to dress there, so that there is not 
much fear of his appearance here before the coast is 
clear ! ” 

Archie jumped at this reprieve as eagerly as if he had 
been a school-boy on the last day of the holidays. He 
was, in truth, very like a school-boy in more ways than 
one, and that perhaps was what had won him the place 
which he held in Cicely’s heart ; for she always got on 
best with those whom she could patronize a little. His 
talk, when he was happy and at his ease, was of that art- 
lessly selfish kind which no one, surely, can help enjoying. 
He would chatter away by the hour about his brother 
officers and the exceedingly humorous practical jokes 
which they were wont to play upon one another, and 
about polo and tent-pegging and pig-sticking and other 
enlivenments of Indian military life, while Cicely encour- 
aged him by her questions. Perhaps one reason why she 
never wearied of hearing him dilate upon these themes 
was that the discussion of them prevented him from being 
too affectionate. 

“ Would there be any harm,” he asked her, “ in telling 
the fellows that I am engaged to be married? It’s so 
difficult to keep a thing of that sort to oneself-! ” 

“ By all means tell them, if you like,” answered Cicely, 
laughing ; “ there is no occasion to make a secret of it. 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


131 

Only I hope you won’t bore them by dwelling too much 
upon the perfections of your betrothed.” 

“ Oh, won’t mind,” Archie declared reassuringly. 

Especially if they know that I shall leave the regiment 
when I marry. Of course we don’t care about having 
many married men.” 

“ And aren’t you afraid you will miss your friends, and 
polo, and all the rest of it, when you settle down to a hum-_ 
drum country life ? ” 

He made the reply which might have been anticipated. 
Life with her on a desert island would be a thousand times 
better than life anywhere without her ; but life in the 
neighborhood of Abbotsport would be simply the reali- 
zation of his wildest dreams. 

“ And even if we did find it slow — which is impossible 
— we could have people down to stay with us. One can 
always get heaps of men to come by offering them a little 
shooting or hunting.” 

“Well, let us hope so,” said Cicely. “Papa thinks 
Upton Chetwode would do for us. We could certainly get 
a lease of the place, and perhaps Mr. Chetwode might be 
persuaded to sell. Papa means to sound him upon the 
subject, and if he is successful he says he will make us a 
wedding present of it. It’s a dear old house ; it only 
wants a little outlay to be made charming.” # 

This conversation took place during the last few min- 
utes of Archie’s stay at the Priory. It was a fine moon- 
light night, and as the dog-cart had come round rather 
early, he had sent the groom on with his luggage, saying 
that he would walk to the station by the short cut across 
the fields. Cicely had accompanied him to the end of the 
garden, and they were now standing beside a little iron 
gate which divided it from the park. 

“ By Jove ! ” arxclaimed the young fellow, “ how awfully 
good Uncle Wilfrid is ! It seems to me that I am just 
about the luckiest beggar in the whole world ! ” 

“ If you think so,” Cicely answered, smiling, “ that is 
the same thing as being so, I suppose.” 

Then she cut short his adieux, over which he was inclined 
to linger, telling him that he would have to put his best 
leg foremost if he didn’t want to miss the train. She 
watched his tall, lithe figure as he strode across the grass 
in the moonlight, and waved her hand to him when he 


132 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


turned to signal a last farewell. She said to herself that 
she certainly loved him. What a pity that there should 
be a difference — possibly rather a wide difference — be- 
tween loving and being in love. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MORTON SCANDALIZES HIS HOST. 

It was well for Morton Bligh’s peace of mind, and well 
also for the comfort of those with whom he was brought 
into contact in London, that he was ignorant of the terrible 
things which had been taking place at the Priory during 
his absence. He felt little or no anxiety upon the point ; 
being persuaded, for one thing, that Mark Chetwode had 
produced an impression upon his sister, and, for another, 
that Archie had not utilized his opportunities as he might 
have done. 

“ To get on the blind side of the governor,” soliloquized 
Morton, as he sat in the train which was bearing him 
southwards, “one must affect a good deal of bluntness; 
and that young fool has overdone the modest, diffident, 
busi^jess, I suspect. Anyhow, if Cicely refuses him, he’s 
out of it : the governor won’t disinherit both his children, 
that’s certain.” 

And very agreeable it was to Morton to reflect that it 
would now no longer be necessary for him to mount guard 
so vigilantly at the Priory. If there was one thing more 
abhorrent to him than another it was rusticity ; and he 
would have cared little enough about his birthright if 
drawing the revenues arising from the Bligh estates had 
implied residence upon the spot. He was never really 
comfortable out of London, where, although, as has been 
said, a good many people declined to have anything to do 
with him, he had still a sufficiency of friends, who may 
have been less particular, or may have thought that his 
moral character concerned them less than his ability to 
provide them with capital dinners. 

“ I shall keep coming and going ; that will be the best ' 
plan,” he mused. “ Unless I’m greatly mistaken, Chetwode 
has swallowed the bait ; he can’t want much spurring on 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


133 


or backing up. Still one ought to be upon the spot from 
time to time, if only for the sake of appearances. It’s a 
bore, but it’s better than having to spend weeks at a 
stretch in that God-forsaken hole ; and I daresay it won’t 
last long. Those good folks may console themselves with 
the thought that they’ll see no more of me than I can help 
after my revered predecessor has been laid to rest in the 
family vault. Once let me get possession, and they may 
all go to the deuce together for anything that I shall care. 
Cicely will have my full consent to marry whom she 
pleases then, and if she chooses Archie in preference to 
Chetwode I shall be most happy to escort her to church 
and give her away. I rejoice in promoting the welfare of 
my fellow-creatures, so long as it doesn’t interfere with my 
own.” 

Revolving these and other sentiments, not less hand- 
some and liberal, in his mind, Morton reached the end of 
his journey homewards in very good humor. In obedience 
to his instructions, a carriage had been sent from the 
Priory to meet him, and he was at once driven to Upton 
Chetwode, where he was received by Mark’s French valet. 
That urbane personage, apologizing for his master, who 
had not yet come in, conducted Morton to one of the 
spacious, dismal bedrooms, unpacked his dress-clothes for 
him and retired with the remark that dinner would be 
served in half an hour precisely. 

“ The fellow speaks as if one of the cook’s exquisite 
plats might be spoilt by being kept waiting,” thought 
Morton, with some amusement. “ I don’t suppose there’ll 
be much to spoil. What a nuisance it must be to be as 
badly off as Chetwode ! However, it’s an ill wind that 
blows nobody any good, and his poverty makes him handy 
just at present. He ought to be uncommonly grateful to 
me for giving him such a chance of making a first-rate 
alliance.” 

But when he went downstairs to the drawing-room, 
where his host was awaiting him, he could detect no sign 
of gratitude nor even of pleasure upon that gentleman’s 
face. Mark, as he held out his hand, said, “ I am glad to 
see you,” but he did not look glad j he looked bored and 
worried, and responded somewhat chillingly to the other’s 
boisterous cordiality. 

Almost the first thing that Morton said was : — 


134 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


“ Well, thank goodness, we’ve seen the last of our friend 
Archie for some time to come. I suppose you’ve heard 
that he has gone back to his regiment ? ” 

Mark looked at the speaker with a faint ironical smile. 

“ Yes,” he answered. “ I heard that your cousin was 
to leave to-day. That is good news, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Well, / consider it so,” answered Morton. “ And,” 
he added with a knowing glance, “I should think you 
would too.” 

But Mark did not choose to understand t’ds delicate 
allusion. He raised his eyebrows slightly and said : — 

“ Oh, your cousin did not interfere with me in any way. 
I seldom met him, and had not your reasons for disliking 
him.” 

Morton, who was a good deal afraid of the man whom 
he hoped to make his accomplice, did not venture to pur- 
sue the subject further, and presently they adjourned to 
the dining-room, where, to the great surprise of the guest, 
a very cleverly cooked little dinner was set before them. 
After a time Morton could no longer refrain from com- 
menting upon the phenomenon. 

“ Where the deuce did you get your cook from, Chet- 
wode? Not from Abbotsport, or anywhere near it. I’ll be 
bound.” 

“ Well, no,” answered Mark. “ My cook — or at least 
the person who has been so kind as to cook for us to-night 
— hails from Paris. For the credit of the house he doesn’t 
mind exercising his skill when I have a guest ; but he won’t 
cook for me, and when I am alone I am at the mercy of 
an aged native who can just manage a muttonchop and no 
more. Fortunately, I don’t care much what I eat or 
drink.” 

Morton, who cared a very great deal, thought it still 
more fortunate that the establishment included an inter- 
mittent culinary artist. He did full justice to each dish 
in turn, and also thoroughly appreciated the wine, which, 
for many years past, had been maturing in a locked-up 
cellar ; so that by the time he had been provided with 
black coffee and a cigarette he saw the world and all that 
therein is through a beautiful rose-colored haze. And 
now it was that Mark, who during dinner had spoken little 
and drunk less, and had scarcely eaten at all, judged it 
appropriate to make a communication which motives of 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


135 

hospitality and charity had thus far induced him to with- 
hold. 

“ I am afraid, my dear Bligh,” said he, ‘‘ that I am 
going to tell you something which will not exactly delight 
you. From all that you have been saying, I presume that 
you have not yet heard the news of your sister’s engage- 
ment to your cousin.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Morton, starting so violently that 
he spilt the half of his coffee. “ Oh, I see — you’re chaffing. 
You woffi'bi’t take it quite so coolly as that if it were 
true.” 

“ Why should I not take it coolly ? ” asked Mark. “ At 
all events it is perfectly true.” 

“ I don’t believe it ! ” Morton declared. “ If you 
aren’t humbugging me, somebody has been humbugging 
you.” 

Possibly ; but I think not. My informant was Mrs. 
Lowndes, whom I met this afternoon, and who had 
received her information from Miss Skipwith. According 
to Miss Skipwith, the engagement is not to be publicly 
announced just yet, but the family have no wish to keep it 
secret from their friends. Mr. Bligh is said to be very 
much pleased about it.” 

That seemed terribly circumstantial. Morton’s incredu- 
lity gave place to a sudden gust of fury, and he burst 
forth into language respecting his father which cannot be 
reported here. 

‘ Pleased ! ” he exclaimed. “ I should rather think he 
would be pleased ! Why, he has been moving heaven and 
earth to bring about this accursed marriage ! It shan’t 
take place though. I’ll stop it— we must stop it ! Dash 
it all, man, why do you sit grinning there, as if it were a 
good joke } Don’t you understand that everything 
depends upon our putting a stop to this at once ? ” 

Mark surveyed his ‘angry questioner with unconcealed 
contempt and disgust. ; 

I quite understand,” he answered coldly, “ that your 
prospect of becoming your father’s heir depends in all pro- 
bability upon your power to break off a match which he 
seems to have arranged. Cursing, however, will hardly 
help you. Might I request you, as a personal favor, not to 
do it any more ? It may be prejudice on my part, but it 
is extremely disagreeable to me to hear a man cursing his 


136 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


father — especially when he uses such very coarse forms of 
malediction.” 

“ My father hates me, and I hate him,” returned 
Morton sullenly ; we have different ways of expressing 
our hatred, that’s all. I’m sorry I shocked your sense of 
propriety ; but you must allow that I have had great pro- 
vocation. It’s enough to put any man’s back up to have 
such a dirty trick played upon him.” 

“ Oh, it’s provoking for you, no doubt.” 

“And not altogether pleasant for you either, I imagine. 
Come, Chetwode, I think you and I have understood one 
another pretty well, though we haven’t put our thoughts 
into plain English before. You know why my father 
wants to marry Cicely to his nephew. He would a great 
deal rather leave the place to her than to me, but he doesn’t 
like to leave it to anybody but a Bligh. Consequently he 
had to provide her with a husband of that name. Of 
course, in self-defence, I had to try and find her a husband 
with some other name ” 

“ And you did me the great honor to select me. I was 
duly sensible of it.” 

“ I don’t know why you should take up that tone, 
Chetwode. My feeling to you has always been a most 
friendly one, I’m sure. I thought that if Cicely married 
you she would marry a gentleman and a good fellow ; and 
the advantage wouldn’t have been all on one side, for, as I 
believe I told you, she will come into at least fifty thousand 
pounds at her father’s death. Moroever, it appeared to 
me that you were very willing to lend yourself to the 
plan.” 

“ That may be.” 

“ And if I weren’t afraid of offending you, I would make 
so bold as to say that I thought you were becoming rather 
— er — fond of my sister, apart from any consideration of 
money.” 

“ You do not offend me by saying so.” 

“Well, then, my dear fellow, surely you are not going 
to be such a — I mean, you surely won’t give up the game 
before it is lost ! You’re altogether mistaken if you 
imagine she has lost her heart to that long-legged donkey. 
She has been talked into this, and she can be talked out of 
it again. Not by me, I admit, because she shares the 
family affection for me ; but if you can’t accomplish that 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


137 


much you’re not the man I take you for. Archie hasn’t 
got an extension of leave, I suppose, has he.” 

“ No ; he was to return to his regiment to-day, I under- 
stood.” 

“ The field is clear, then : all that you have to do is to 
cut him out with Cicely, which, I should say, is well with- 
in your capacity. Meanwhile, I’ll do what I can with the 
governor. When all’s said and done, he has a conscience, 
or flatters himself that he has. And then, I daresay, by 
raking about a little, I might be able to furnish him with 
an awkward story or two about his precious nephew. A 
man doesn’t knock about a garrison town long without 
getting into a scrape of some sort or kind, you may be 
sure.” 

Perhaps it was only this last phrase which saved Mark 
from yielding to the voice of the tempter and entering 
into a discreditable compact. During the first part of 
Morton’s speech his eyes had brightened ; after which he 
had turned them away and gazed pensively at his neat 
little shoes. But if his code of honor was hardly that of 
an ordinary English gentleman, it was not wide enough to 
admit association with such a pitiable sneak as Morton 
Bligh. Therefore he only said : — 

“ You are very flattering, but I am afraid you must not 
count on my assistance.” 

“ Why not ? ” asked Morton sharply. 

“For various reasons, with which I won’t trouble you ; 
because I should despair of making you understand them.” 

“ The long and the short of it is, then, that you mean to 
leave me in the lurch.” 

“ If you like to call it so.” 

“ Hum ! Well, you’re a nice sort of friend, I must 
say ! ” 

For the first time that evening Mark laughed outright. 

“ You honor me very much when you describe me as 
your friend,” said he, “and I would not for the world 
appear ungracious or ungrateful. Still I can’t resist ask- 
ing you whether you were really under the impression that 
I should pay my addresses to your sister for love of you ? ” 

Morton made no reply. A liqueur decanter of cognac 
had been brought in with the coffee, and to this he had 
been devoting himself assiduously during the last few 
minutes. That was a kind of indulgence which he could 


138 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


never permit himself with impunity, so that by this time 
his ideas had lost all distinctness of outline. One thing 
only was quite clear to him : by hook or by crook, his 
sister must be prevented from marrying Archie. 

“ I’ll clear that fellow out of my path somehow,” he 
declared resolutely, after his host had been waiting a long 
time for him to speak. 

“ I am sure it would be wise on your part to do so,” 
answered Mark, who began to find the man rather amusing, 
and had got over a strong desire to kick him out of the 
house; “ the only question is how are you to do it? In 
this over-civilized country one can’t assassinate one’s 
enemies, or even get them assassinated.” 

But Morton was very bold and said : — 

“ If I had him here now he shouldn’t leave this room 
alive, I can tell you ! ” Whereat Mark laughed again. 

For a time it was a little diverting to listen to the 
vaporings of this half-tipsy fool ; but when these degene- 
rated into mere impotent blasphemy Mark grew disgusted 
once more, and out of sheer weariness began to take 
Archie’s part. 

“ I really don’t see why you should feel so much 
animosity against him,” he said at length. “ He appears 
to me to be a very commonplace, honest sort of a young 
man, and quite genuinely in love with his cousin.” 

“ Oh, you think so, do you ? ” snarled Morton. That’s 
all you know about him. Commonplace he may be ; but 
I’ll be shot if he’s honest ! Anybody, except the governor, 
who didn’t choose to see, would have seen what his game 
was all along. Why, even old Aunt Susan saw it ! I’m 
not beat yet, though, I can tell him. He shall live to 
regret having stolen a march upon me ! ” 

And so forth, and so forth, for the best part of another 
quarter of an hour. Morton showed no disposition to 
move, nor was it possible to get him to talk about anything 
save the one all-important subject. The longest lane, 
however, has a turning, and when the liqueur decanter had 
been drained to its last drop, Morton rose, steadying him- 
self by the table, and said he supposed it was about time 
to order the brougham. 

Mark rang the bell with alacrity, and then was revealed 
the unpleasant circumstance that no brougham was forth- 
coming. Perhaps the disused stables were not fit for 


MISADVENTURE. 


*39 


horses to be put up in; perhaps the coachman, having 
received no orders to wait, may have taken it for granted 
that Morton proposed to sleep where he dined ; or, perhaps 
(for like the rest of the servants at the Priory he had no 
love for his future master), he may not have been unwill- 
ing to play a trick upon that gentleman. In any case he 
had driven straight home, and it was now too late to think 
of sending to Abbotsport for a fly. What was to be done ? 
Mark, of course, could do no less than offer his guest a 
bed ; but he was relieved when the latter, after considering 
for a while and heaping many injurious epithets upon the 
coachman, decided that he would walk home. 

“ Well, it’s a beautiful night,” said Mark. 

It was a beautiful night, and the moonlight made every- 
thing so clear that even a man in Morton’s condition could 
see his way as well as if it had been noon-day. Whether, 
even if it had been noon-day, it would have been quite safe 
to let him go home alone was another question ; but Mark 
was so thoroughly sick of him that he felt quite unable to 
offer his services as an escort. He stood on the steps and 
watched the departure of the belated reveller, who really 
went wonderfully straight, considering all things. Every 
now and then he stopped and pawed the air in the attempt 
to ascend an imaginary hill, and once or twice he took 
great pains to circumnavigate some non-existent obstacle ; 
but he kept on moving in the right direction, and there 
seemed to be a very fair chance of his reaching his des- 
tination eventually. 

“ And if he tumbles into a ditch and lies there till he 
dies, nobody will be one penny the worse,” reflected Mark. 
“ That, however, will not happen.' He is.far too obnoxious 
a member of society to come to an untimely end.” 

Mark turned away from the door and strolled across the 
terrace on the south side of the house, where there was a 
stone balustrade, overgrown with ivy and lichen. Upon 
this he dropped his elbows, and so stood for a long time, 
lost in gloomy meditation. The intelligence which inquisi- 
tive little Mrs. Lowndes had taken such pleasure in im- 
parting to him had fallen upon him like a thunderbolt 
from a clear sky. The idea of reconstructing his fallen 
fortunes by means of a marriage with Cicely Bligh was one 
which at first he had contemplated with little more than 
languid acquiescence, but latterly, as we know, his feelings 


140 


M/S A D VENTURE, 


had undergone a change ; and then, too, there is all the 
difference in the world between a desirable thing which 
you may have for the asking and a thing which you can’t 
possibly have, however much you may desire it. He had, 
it is true, soon discovered that the siege and capture of 
Cicely’s heart would be a task demanding some skill, 
labor and patience, but he had looked forward with a 
good deal of confidence to the result of his operations. He 
had made the mistake of despising Archie ; he had felt 
convinced that the young man’s chance was not worth con- 
sidering, and now he was bitterly disappointed. And the 
worst of it was that it was not the loss of her fortune that 
disappointed him. He tried to persuade himself that it 
was, and he was in a measure successful, because the pros- 
pect of lingering on at Upton Chetwode in extreme poverty 
was appalling enough, but in the end he had to face the 
truth, which was anything but welcome to him. 

“ I love her,” he muttered, “ and a pretty fool I am for 
my pains ! It is rather late in the day for me to be making 
myself miserable because a little girl prefers a subaltern 
with a pair of spurs and a long sword to a middle-aged 
civilian. Don’t little girls always prefer subalterns to 
middle-aged civilians ? And are their preferences a matter 
of any importance? Yet — ^how can one help oneself? It 
is a malady like other human maladies, and one gets over 
it in time, as one gets over the others unless one happens 
to die of them. But it hurts while it lasts.” 

He sighed and turned back into the house, where one of 
Madame Souravieff ’s bulky letters was lying on his table 
unopened. He smiled ironically as his eye fell on it, 
remembering that he had once been deeply in love with 
Madame Souravieff. 

“ Come,” he said to himself, “ there are compensations 
in every lot ; now at least I have escaped the risk of being 
poisoned or stabbed.” 


M/s A D VENTURE, 


141 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

FORTUNA SiEVO L^TA NEGOTIO. 

A PECULIAR feature of English railway management, which 
everybody must have noticed, is that the train is invariably 
behind its time when one turns up at the station with five 
minutes to spare, and just as invariably punctual if, by 
some unusual mischance, one happens to be a minute 
or two late. Archie, perhaps, was not yet sufficiently 
advanced in life to have learnt that this is a rule without 
an exception ; at all events, he was not much alarmed 
when, on consulting his watch, he found he had run things 
rather fine. The express was due at Abbotsport Road at 
10.30 j it was now twenty-eight minutes past ten, and he 
was still nearly a quarter of a mile from the station. 
However, he set out at a slinging trot and had the satis- 
faction of arriving breathless upon the platform just as the 
tail lamp of the express was disappearing. 

“ Dear me, sir, you was very nearly in time,” said the 
porter commiseratingly. “ I’ve got your luggage labelled, 
but I didn’t like to put it in — not afore I see you, sir.” 

“ What on earth am I to do ? ” ejaculated Archie. 

I’m bound to be at Aldershot to-morrow morning.” 

‘‘Oh, that’ll be all right, sir; there’s the 12.15 ^s’ll get 
you up plenty o’ time, though ’tis a slotv train.” 

Well this was better than having to order a special ; still 
it was a very great nuisance, and the prospect of waiting 
an hour and three-quarters on a deserted platform was not 
cheerful. Archie, however, was in so happy a mood that 
night that he was prepared to accept all ordinary annoy- 
ances philosophically, and he did not spend much time in 
grumbling. Having lighted a cigar he tried walking up 
and down the platform for a few minutes ; but finding that 
intolerable, he left the precincts of the station and saun- 
tered across the fields in a seaward direction, congratulating 
himself upon the mildness and beauty of the night. After 
all, he had so much to think about that the time did not 


142 


MISADVENTURE. 


seem very long. It is a pathetic testimony to the predo- 
minant sadness of life that no one ever doubts the reality 
of his misfortunes, whereas the effect of unexpected happi- 
ness is so frequently to shake the happy mortal’s conviction 
of his own identity. Archie was still in that blissful state 
of semi-scepticism. A week ago he would have been only 
too thankful for a word of encouragement from Cicely ; 
that she would accept him at the first time of asking he had 
never for a moment expected. And now he was going to 
be married to her ! Going to be married very soon, too, 
perhaps ; for although dates had not yet been mentioned, 
it was evident Mr. Bligh was not in favor of indefinite 
delay, and that if a home could be found for his daughter 
near him, he would be willing to let her quit the shelter of 
his roof. Archie kept repeating to himself that these things 
could not be, for the pleasure of assuring himself that they 
were. He did not notice particularly in what direction he 
was walking, but simply followed his nose, which happened 
to point due south, and so, after a time, he came perforce 
to a standstill ; for now he had reached the edge of the 
cliffs and was looking down upon a little shingly bay, where 
the waves broke with a soft swish and a rattle of loose 
pebbles far beneath him. On his right hand a portion of 
Abbotsport was distinguishable, and on his left was a belt 
of trees, towards which the footpath upon which he was 
standing led. 

Now this footpath afforded the most direct means of 
communication between the Priory and Upton Chetwode, 
and, as ill luck would have it, it was along this footpath 
that Morton Bligh was even then wending his homeward 
way. Archie was ’disturbed in the rnidst of a pleasing 
vision by the sound of uncertain footsteps, and, turning his 
head to see who was coming, recognized his cousin, who at 
the same moment recognized him. Both men stood still 
and stared. It was no longer possible to avoid a meeting 
which one of them, at any rate, would gladly have escaped ; 
but as neither of them had been in the least prepared for 
it, a few instants of silence and h<^sitation ensued. Morton 
spoke first. 

“What the devil are you doing here?” he asked in a 
thick voice. 

“Nothing unlawful, I assure you,” answered Archie, 
laughing. “ I’ve managed to miss my train, that’s all ; so 
I’ve got to wander about until past midnight.” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


143 


Morton paid no heed to this explanation, possibly did 
not even hear it. He was trembling with rage and excite- 
ment, and the torrent of incoherent abuse which he began 
to pour forth was barely intelligible ; but it was evident 
that he had heard of his sister’s engagement, and was even 
more angry about it than might have been anticipated. 

Archie thought it best to let him rave on. He was de- 
termined to keep his temper, and indeed did not feel at all 
tempted to lose it. But when Morton proceeded from 
objurgations to threats, and actually squared up to him in 
an absurd caricature of a fighting attitude, he said : — 

“ For Heaven’s sake don’t make such an ass of yourself! 
Go home and go to bed, like a reasonable being. There 
wouldn’t be the slightest use in my discussing matters with 
you now, but when you know all about it to-morrow, you 
will see that you haven’t much cause for complaint. At 
least, I expect so,” added Archie, as a saving clause ; for 
it occurred to him that his uncle might not, perhaps, intend 
to make the provisions of his will known to his heir-appa- 
rent. 

“ I don’t know what you expect, but I know what you’ll 
get — and that’s a jolly good thrashing ! ” called out Mor- 
ton. 

Considering the relative strength of the two men, this 
menace was sufficiently ridiculous : but Morton, neverthe- 
less, attempted to carry it into effect, so that Archie was 
compelled in self-defence to reduce him to comparative 
helplessness by getting behind him and throwing his arms 
up. In this position the captive kicked out vigorously and 
the captor’s shins suffered a little ; but the scuffle could 
have but one termination. 

“ I won’t hit you again if you let me go,” gasped out 
Morton at length. 

“ Thank you very much,” answered Archie, laughing and 
releasing him. “ Now, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll get 
home as quickly as you can, and tell them to bring you 
some seltzer with a dash of brandy in it the first thing in 
the morning.” 

Morton turned sullenly away, making no reply. The 
struggle had partially sobered him, but it had not made 
him any steadier on his legs, and Archie, who was at first 
amused by his divagations, began presently to think that 
these might prove no laughing matter if persisted in in such 


144 


MISAD VENTURE, 


dangerous proximity to a precipicer He had not the time, 
and he certainly had not the inclination, to see his cousin 
home, but he felt bound in common humanity to conduct 
him a short distance inland. Accordingly, he strode after 
him and took him by the arm, saying : — 

“ I’ll walk a bit of the way with you.” 

“ I don’t want your company,” returned Morton roughly. 

“ If it comes to that, I am not very anxious for yours : 
but you had better have somebody to look after you for the 
next two or three hundred yards. You’re awfully drunk, 
you know, and if you were to slip over the edge anywhere 
hereabouts you would never move again.” 

He was quite prepared for another torrent of strong 
language, but, to his surprise, Morton, whose manner had 
undergone a sudden and complete change, leant heavily 
upon his arm and thanked him in a very humble tone of 
voice for his assistance. 

“ Devilish kind of you. I’m sure, after the way I treated 
you just now. You’re a good fellow, Archie — upon my 
word you are ! Let’s be friends ! ” 

“ Oh, all right, anything you like,” replied Archie some- 
what impatiently. “ Come on ! ” He only wanted to get 
rid of the wretched creature, and did not take this abrupt 
tendering of the olive-branch seriously. 

“ Yes ; but you must let me beg your pardon for what I 
said to you,” persisted Morton, as he staggered along. 
“ Quite unjustifiable,* I admit. But you’ll overlook it, 
won’t you ? You’ll try to forget it ? ” 

“ Certainly ; but don’t shove me over the cliff in the 
meantime, please,” answered Archie ; for his companion 
kept on lurching against him, and there was not much room 
to spare. 

Now that he was provided with a prop to lean upon, 
Morton seemed to have lost all control over his movements, 
nor was it easy to keep him away from the perilous verge 
towards which he perversely gravitated at every step. 

‘‘ I’ll tell you what it is,” exclaimed Archie, at length ; 
if you go on like this you’ll have me down presently ; and 
if I go down you’ll go too. Can you understand that 
much ? ” 

Had there not happened to be on that spot a jutting 
ledge upon the face of the cliff, those would beyond all 
doubt have been Archie Bligh’s last words on earth ; for 


mSADVENTURE. 


'4S 

hardly were they out of his mouth when Morton, wrenching 
himself away with a sudden jerk, gave him a push which 
threw him completely off his balance. For one horrible, 
sickening instant he gave himself up for lost ; the next he 
was hanging over the abyss, one knee supported by the 
narrow shelf of chalk which had arrested his fall, while his 
fingers clutched convulsively at the scanty herbage, by 
means of which he strove in vain to haul himself up. 

Morton, whose pale face, illumined by the moonlight, 
had an expression of triumphant malignity, stamped upon 
his hands as he struggled. If the would-be murderer had 
had nails in his boots he might possibly have- achieved his 
purpose ; but he was a small, light man, and he was wear- 
ing thin evening shoes. All he could do — and this he did 
during several interminable seconds — was to prevent his 
victim from obtaining any hold sufficient to support the 
weight of over twelve stone. Archie felt that he was in 
deadly peril ; he did not know how far the projection upon 
which his knee was resting could be trusted, and he feared 
that his nerve was beginning to fail. At last, with a 
despairing effort, he seized his assailant’s leg .and, throw- 
ing his body forward, just — and only just — managed to 
fall, gasping and panting, upon his face on the firm land. 

The instinct of self-preservation impelled him at once to 
crawl away from the brink, over which his feet were still 
hanging, and while he was doing so. a loud crashing sound 
rose to his ears from the beach below. That was really all 
that he knew about it. Even when he sat up, exhausted 
and bewildered, and could see no sign of Morton, he did 
not at once realize that in saving his own life he had taken 
that of his cousin. Afterwards he remembered in a con- 
fused sort of way that Morton had been dragged to the 
ground, and he thought, but was not sure, that he remem- 
bered hearing the unfortunate man cry out ; but for the 
moment he was simply dazed and unable to collect his 
senses. It was only by degrees that the awful truth dawned 
upon him, bringing out a cold sweat upon his forehead 
and making him shiver from head to foot. Morton was 
killed — of that there could not be the slightest doubt, for 
the cliff over which he had fallen was at least four hundred 
feet in height — and Archie may be forgiven if in the pre- 
sence of such a catastrophe his first thought was for himself, 
and Miot for the man who had attempted to murder him. 


146 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


For Morton, indeed, nothing could be done ; but the 
survivor surely had need to keep his wits about him, and 
to take what action might seem best to secure himself 
against the risk of a horrible accusation. Poor Archie had 
not all his wits about him, but he had sense enough to be 
aware that if he rushed straight off to the Priory, gave the 
alarm and related the whole truth, he would inevitably live 
out the rest of his life under a certain cloud of suspicion 
which nothing could remove. Cicely would believe his 
story ; so would his uncle ; so, perhaps, but not certainly, 
would most of his friends and neighbors. But some per- 
sons there \yould undoubtedly be who would shake their 
heads and purse up their lips. That his cousin and he had 
been upon bad terms was notorious ; it would soon be 
seen how greatly his worldly prospects were improved by 
Morton’s removal ; and the circumstance of his having 
missed his train and walked back to a place where Morton 
was likely to be encountered would scarcely escape com- 
ment. The more Archie thought of it — and he ‘had not 
much time for thought — the more he shrank from the only 
straightforward course, and the more he felt tempted to 
seek safety in flight. 

For flight would mean safety, absolute and complete. 
No suggestion of foul play would be put forward, because 
Mark Chetwode must have known that Morton had left his 
house in a state of intoxication, and that a tipsy man 
should miss his footing and roll over a cliff was in no way 
surprising. As for himself, it would hardly be supposed 
that he had wandered so far away from the station j nor in 
truth would there be any ground for such a supposition. 
All he had to do was to hurry back, to report himself at 
Aldershot in due course, to be as much shocked as other 
people when the news of the accident reached him, and to 
treat the events of the last half-hour as though they had 
never occurred. Was he not morally justified in adopting 
that plan ? Was he not guiltless of his cousin’s death ? 

“ He tried his best to kill me,” muttered Archie, “ and 
I should have had a right to try and kill him in self- 
defence. But I didn’t try ; it was all his own doing, not 
mine.” 

Well, he had to make up his mind, for there were not 
inany minutes to spare, and if he missed the train a second 
time his fate must necessarily be decided for hirrk It 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


H7 


seems hard to condemn a man placed, through no fault of 
his own, irhso cruel a dilemma, for choosing to make him- 
self safe. Yet he was wrong, and he lived to acknowledge 
it. Setting the moral aspect of the question aside, it would 
have been better for him to confess the truth and take all 
the consequences that might result than to carry about with 
him to his grave a secret which he could never dare to 
impart to any other human being. But at the time he 
naturally did not realize what the burden of that secret 
must be. He was horror-struck, but not remorseful (having 
no cause for remorse), and as he hastened along the track, 
which he had lately traversed under such different condi- 
tions of feeling, his longing for escape found expression in 
the words which he kept repeating over and over : — 

“ Nobody will know ! Nobody will know ! ” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ DEATH BY MISADVENTURE.” 

Early in the morning Mrs. Allspice, the housekeeper at 
the Priory, had got through her daily task of rousing up 
heavy-headed housemaids, and was seated in her sanctum 
adding up accounts, when a tap on the window-pane made 
her jump. 

“ Drat the man ! ” she exclaimed irritably, when she 
recognized the face of old Coppard, “why can’t he go to 
the back door, instead of stealing upon a body that way, 
like a thief in the night ? ” And throwing open the win- 
dow, she proceeded to administer the rating which the case 
appeared to call for. 

“You’ll excuse me, mum,” said Coppard, in his deep 
hoarse voice, “ but I’m the bearer of bad noos, which had 
best be for your private hear. As I come alung I thinks 
to myself, ‘ Mrs. Hallspice, she’s a sensible ’oman with a 
powerful gift of self-control ; I’ll tell what must be told to 
Mrs. Hallspice, and keep out of the way o’ them silly gals, 
as ’ud go screeching all over the place and breakin’ things 
violent ’stead of easy, like they should be broke.’ ” 

Notwithstanding the self-control with which she was 
credited, Mrs. Allspice pressed her hand to her heart and 
gasped. 


148 


M/SAD VENTURE, 


“ Mercy upon me ! ” she ejaculated. “ Don’t tell me 
it’s Mr. Archie ! ” 

Coppard shook his head but did not relax the solemnity 
of his expression. 

“ To the best o’ my knowledge and belief, mum, there 
ain’t nothin’ amiss with the young gentleman as you speak 
of,” he replied. 

“ The Lord be praised for that ! Step in through the 
window, then, if the rheumatics ’ll let you. You’re right 
about those girls ; they’re just as inquisitive as they’re 
flighty, and a stronger thing than that I couldn’t say.” 

Coppard having hoisted himself into the room with 
rather more groaning and wheezing than was absolutely 
necessary (for he felt that he had a claim on Mrs. Allspice’s 
famous cherry brandy, and he wanted to show her how much 
he needed it), proceeded to unfold his tale. As this was 
a very long business indeed, and was adorned by numerous 
picturesque digressions, it may perhaps be summarized 
with advantage. The upshot of it was tliat, having pulled 
round to the Pebble Cove soon after daybreak to pick up 
his crab-pots, he had seen the body of a man lying on the 
beach, and that, after landing and making a closer inspec- 
tion, he had discovered, to his horror, that this unfortu- 
nate was no other than Mr. Morton Bligh, stone dead, 
‘‘and so knocked about and sinashed as I won’t distress 
your feelings by describing of it, mum.” He had at once 
hastened to Abbotsport and had assembled a party, with 
whose help he had removed the corpse to the Seven Stars 
— “ where it now lays, mum. For I didn’t venture not for 
to let ’em carry it up to the Priory, mum, till I got instruc- 
tions. I couldn’t feel as it ought to be done, mum — 
which I daresay you’ll understand me.” 

Mrs. Allspice commended Coppard and gave him the 
cherry brandy which his soul loved. She was, of course, 
very much shocked and said so a great many times ; but 
she was more impressed by the awful suddenness with 
which this sinner had been “ called to his account ” than 
afflicted by his demise. As to the manner in which the 
accident had come about she felt little doubt. Mr. Morton 
had been expected home on the previous evening, but his 
non-appearance had caused no alarm, because it was 
known that he was dining at Upton Chetwode, and as he 
had his portmanteau with him, it was supposed that he 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


149 


intended sleeping there. Evidently, if he had had such an 
intention, he must have abandoned it and started to walk 
home — possibly under circumstances which rendered walk- 
ing in the neighborhood of a cliff imprudent. Mrs. 
Allspice had reason to be aware that the circumstances 
alluded to not unfrequently presented themselves in Mr. 
Morton’s case after dinner. But now the question was, 
who was to break the news to the squire 1 And to such 
a question there could, in that house, be only one answer. 
It was, as Coppard said, “ crool ’ard ” upon Miss Cicely, 
but then she had courage enough for anything; ‘‘and 

besides ” added Mrs. Allspice, caressing her double 

chin meditatively with her finger and thumb, and leaving 
her sentence unfinished. 

The worthy housekeeper probably meant that it would 
be’ impossible for Miss Cicely to grieve very deeply over 
the death of such a brother, but did not like to say so. 
Presently she sighed and went up to Cicely’s bedroom, 
after telling old Coppard to stay where he was, and left the 
cherry brandy on the table — a thing which she never would 
have done if her mental balance had not been disturbed. 
When she returned at the end of a quarter of an hour she 
saw at once how her confidence had been abused, and 
placed a mental punishment mark against the delinquent’s 
name ; but the present occasion not being an appropriate 
one for letting him know what she thought of him, she 
contented herself with giving him a stern look, which 
he did not seem to comprehend, and telling him to go 
round to the front door, where he would find Miss Cicely, 
who wished to see him. 

Cicely was waiting on the lawn when Coppard emerged 
from the stable-yard, and she at once moved further away 
from the house, beckoning him to follow her. 

“ I don’t want the servants to know that you are here,” 
she said, as he approached ; “ they would be sure to guess 
that something was wrong, and I haven’t had time to con- 
sider yet how papa is to be told. I am afraid it might do 
him a great deal of harm if he heard it without any prepa- 
ration, or even if he suspected that a misfortune had hap- 
pened and didn’t know what it was. In whatever way he 
may learn it, it is certain to make him ill.” 

Her cheeks were very white, but her voice was steady 
and her manner composed. Possibly she might have dis- 


150 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


played more emotion if she had only had her own feelings 
to think of ; but as it was there was room for nothing in 
her mind but dread of the effect of a sudden shock upon 
her father in his present frail condition. She made 
Coppard repeat all that she had already heard from the 
housekeeper, but while she seemed to be listening to 
the details of his prolix narrative she was in reality 
debating half a dozen ways of softening a blow which 
could not be softened, and finding objections to them 
all 

Coppard was still dilating upon the forethought and 
presence of mind which he had exhibited throughout 
this melancholy affair when the tall figure of Mr. Lowndes 
was seen hurrying up the avenue. Cicely advanced to 
meet him, glad to have found somebody with whom 
she could take counsel j for although it was not lier 
habit to ask advice or accept it, she sometimes allowed 
herself to be guided by the rector, whose sound com- 
mon sense she appreciated. 

‘‘You have heard?" she said, interrogatively. 

Mr. Lowndes made a sign of assent. 

“ I came up at once to see whether I could be of any 
use. Has your father been told ? " 

“Not yet ; and I don’t know how it is to be done. 
Even if he were quite well he would feel it a great deal 
more than — than ’’ 

“ Well, yes ; I am afraid he would," agreed the rector, 
who understood what she did not say. 

“ And he is not as strong as he was a month ago," 
continued Cicely, the tears suddenly coming into her eyes. 
“ I have not been able to make up my mind to go to him ; 
but I must not put it off any longer. Will you come with 
me ? " 

“ Wouldn’t it be almost better for me to go without 
you ? ’’ suggested Mr. Lowndes. “ I’ll do just what you 
wish, but it seems to me that if I undertook the mission I 
might, in some way, save both you and him pain." 

Cicely assented gratefully. “ How kind you are ! ” she 
exclaimed. She knew very well that there was nothing in 
the world more distasteful to this good-humored, eupeptic 
man than the performance of duties which are commonly 
described as painful ; bi^t she allowed him on this occa- 
sion to assume a burden which by rights should have 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


151 

been laid upon her, because she felt sure that her father 
would be able to solace hinrself by speaking his mind freely 
to his old friend. All the circumstances of Morton’s rela- 
tions with his family had been so unusual that it would be 
hardly possible for them, in talking about him together, to 
give expression to their real feelings. So the rector went 
into the house, and having ascertained that Mr. Bligh was 
up and dressed, gave his card, upon which he had scrib- 
bled, “ I must see you for a few minutes,” to the butler to 
take upstairs. Immediately afterwards he was shown 
into the presence of the invalid, whom he found lying on 
a sofa and finishing his breakfast. 

‘‘You’re very early, and you look very solemn, Lown- 
des,” remarked Mr. Bligh. “ Has the church been burnt 
down ? I hope so ; because then it may be rebuilt. 
Heaven forbid ,that it should ever be restored ! ” 

It often falls to the lot of a country parson to announce 
evil tidings, and, unless he is abnormally stupid, experi- 
ence soon teaches him which method of doing so to select 
in a particular case, out of the very few methods that 
exist. Mr. Lowndes simply said : — 

“ I have come to tell you that Morton fell over the cliff 
on his way back from Upton Chetwode last night and was 
killed on the spot.” 

He was perhaps right in judging that an abrupt shock 
would do his friend less harm than a process of slow tor- 
ture, but he was hardly prepared for the agitation against 
which Mr. Bligh struggled vainly for several minutes ; 
because, to tell the truth, he had not believed that any 
father could feel a spark of affection for so worthless and 
undutiful a son. 

“ I am afraid I have been very clumsy,” he said at 
length, rising and laying his hand on the sick man’s 
shoulder. “ I did it for the best.” 

Mr. Bligh nodded and presently found his voice. In 
answer to the few questions that he put he was told all 
that was known about an accident the immediate cause of 
which it was easy to surmise ; but it was a long time 
before he could talk as Cicely had foreseen that it would 
be a relief to him to talk. 

“ I feel like a murderer, Lowndes,” he said at length. 
“ I never wished for poor Morton’s death, but I did look 
forward to it as an event not unlikely to happen and not 


152 


MISADVENTURE, 


likely to be deplored. Now it has happened sooner than 
I expected, and I see, as one always does when it is too 
late to make amends, that I was not fair to him.” 

“ My dear Bligh, that is nonsense. You were not only 
fair to him but generous. Let us say, if you will, that 
death wipes out all offences ; but so long as a man lives 
his offences must be remembered and taken into account. 
As a matter of fact, you forgave Morton’s while he was 
still alive and had every prospect of living for many 
years.” 

“ Oh, I made him my heir ; I should have been conspu 
cuously unfair if I hadn’t. But that is not quite what I 
mean. I never spoke kindly to him or showed or felt the 
slightest sympathy for him. I just tolerated him. He 
was treated like a leper, whom we only admitted amongst 
us because we were so sure that his leprosy was not 
catching. It was the wrong way to go to work. One 
should either forgive without reserve or not at all.” 

“ Most people wouldn’t have forgiven him at all,” the 
rector declared ; “ and though I wish to be as charitable 
as I can, I am bound to say that I don’t believe kindness 
would have had any good effect upon him.” 

“ Ah, well ! it’s useless to discuss the question now. I 
think Archie ought to come back ; no doubt his colonel 
will give him leave. Perhaps Cicely will write him a 
line.” 

“ Yes : or for that matter it would be easy enough to 
telegraph.” 

“ No ; I don’t want him telegraphed for.* If he is here 
the day after to-morrow that will be quite time enough in 
my opinion ; but Cicely can do as she likes about it. 
There will have to be an inquest, I suppose ? ” 

“ That is unavoidable, I am afraid,” answered the 
rector ; “ but it will be a mere matter of form and your 
presence will not be required.” 

He remained for some time longer with Mr. Bligh, and 
only took his leave when Cicely, whose anxiety could 
endure no further delay, came in. Cicely’s first impression 
on seeing her father’s face was that a delicate operation 
had been skillfully performed, and she threw a quick glance 
of gratitude at her emissary, who nevertheless went away 
sorrowful. 

I don’t like it,” thought the good man to himself, as 


MISAD VENTURE, 


153 


he descended the staircase. “ I don’t like it a bit. I only 
hope that this may not be his death-blow ; but it wouldn’t 
surprise me if he never rallied. He wasn’t in the least 
like kimself froin beginning to end — too much moved at 
first and too apathetic afterwards. One doesn’t require a 
doctor to tell one what that means ; the disease is reaching 
the brain.” 

Cicely, as was only to be expected, formed a less gloomy 
prognosis. She could not shut her eyes to the hopeless 
nature of her father’s illness, but she had managed to shut 
them to the fact that he was growing slowly and steadily 
worse, and now she managed to ignore symptoms which 
in the case of any other sick person would not have 
escaped her. In the afternoon Mark Chetwode called to 
make inquiries, and she saw him for a few minutes, wishing 
to hear anything that could be learnt from the last man 
who was known to have seen Morton alive. 

Naturally he did not tell her much. His face, which he 
could always and without effort render expressionless, con- 
cealed any emotion that he may have felt. Only once in 
the course of the brief interview did a slight change come 
over it, and that was when, in reply to his request that he 
might be allowed to be of some use to her, since her father 
was incapacitated, she said : — 

“ Oh, thank you, but I hope Archie will be here to- 
morrow or next day. I am going to write to him.” 

He did not congratulate her upon her engagement, 
thinking that it would be a breach, of , good manners to 
allude to an event which had not yet been formally made 
public, and as he had no excuse for lingering where his 
presence was something of an intrusion, he soon went away 
in a very despondent mood. 

“ This closes the chapter, then,” thought he. “ If my 
case was hopeless yesterday, it is doubly hopeless to-day. 
vSo far as I am concerned, the entire Bligh family died 
when that miserable creature broke his neck. I only wish 
I could forget them as easily as I shall be able to forget 
him ! ” 

As a matter of fact, however, he was not able to forget 
Morton very readily ; for he was reminded of his deceased 
guest in a disagreeable manner when he was called upon 
to give evidence at the coroner’s inquest. That court of 
inquiry, which was held at the Seven Stars, treated him 


154 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


with scant consideration, and the reluctance which he 
evinced in answering certain questions was not appreciated 
as it might have been. Asked in what condition the 
deceased had left his house, he began by. replying that the 
deceased had left his house sound in wind and limb. This 
was considered flippant and evasive, and he was very soon 
made to confess that during the evening Mr. Morton Bligh 
had drunk a good deal of wine and spirits. 

“Was he sober when he started to walk home? ” 

' “ Well, that depends upon what you call sober. He 
could walk.” 

Could he walk straight without assistance ? ” 

“ I am not prepared to affirm that he could walk abso- 
lutely straight ; he appeared to me to keep a relatively 
straight course.” 

“ And knowing, as you must have known, the danger 
that lay before him, it did not occur to you to walk with 
him ? ” 

“ It did not. I foresaw no special danger.” 

These answers created a very bad impression, and at 
the last of them the jurymen, with one consent, wagged 
their heads solemnly. They were all Abbotsport men, 
which is as much as to say that they were acquainted with 
the physical disabilities under which the deceased had 
labored at the time of his demise, and could heartily sym- 
pathize with them. It might, they thought (though this, 
after all, was a moot point), be wrong to get drunk, 
but as for asking a man to drink with you and neglecting 
to see him home after your drink had overpowered him, 
there could be no two opinions about such conduct as 
that. Indeed, it was afterwards said that several of 
them had been strongly in favor of finding the delinquent 
guilty of manslaughter, and had only been brought to do 
. violence to their sense of what was right by representations 
that the man was no better than a foreigner. It was, at 
all events, a considerable time before they could agree 
upon a verdict of “ Death by Misadventure,” to which the 
following expression of opinion was added : — 

“ The jury desire to record their great astonishment and 
regret that no reasonable and humane precautions were 
taken by the gentleman with whom the deceased had been 
dining to avert a calamity which might have been pre- 
dicted.” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


155 


The admirable and well-chosen terms in which this rider 
was couched were generally considered to reflect great 
credit upon Mr. Simpkins, the foreman, but old Coppard, 
who, as may be remembered, had a private grudge against 
Simpkins, said that, by his way of thinking, the jury would 
have done better to mind their own business and keep 
their astonishment and regret to themselves. 

“ These things come to pass by the will of the Almighty,” 
was his pious comment. “ Drunk or sober, when a man’s 
hour comes he’s got to die. Regretted or not regretted, 
the young squire’s dead, and I don’t see as it’ll do him 
no manner o’ good to throw nasty dictionary words at the 
livin’.” 

Much the same, though otherwise worded, were the 
sentiments of Mr. Lowndes, who caught Mark uj» in the 
street and made him a sort of apology. 

“ Stupid fellows ! They had no business to say such 
things even if they thought them. Bligh will be very much 
vexed when he hears. I hope you won’t let it distress you.” 

“ Distress me ! Why should it distress me? ” returned 
Mark. “ Is it possible that in England you really care 
what these boors may say or think about you ? At an 
election time I understand that they may become important, 
since you have chosen to make them your masters, but 
even at an election time you must surely be laughjng at 
them, unless you feel the absurdity of the position too 
much to laugh. As for me, an English peasant is no 
more to me than a Russian moujik ; I should be ashamed 
of myself if such beings had the power to cause me emotion 
of any kind.” 

He spoke with a warmth which left the worthy rector 
open-mouthed, and which seemed to betray a good deal of 
the emotion which he disclaimed. But in truth the verdict 
of the coroner’s jury had not ruffled him. What he felt, 
and what had caused him to turn so sharply upon innocent 
Mr. Lowndes, was blind rage against fate and deep disgust 
for the scene of his discomfiture. He had now quite made 
up his mind that he would leave the neighborhood and 
never return. He was not so poor but that life — a kind of 
life — would still be possible for him elsewhere. “ Rather a 
single room in St. Petersburg than a castle in this accursed 
province ! ” he muttered, as he strode up the hill towards 
lonely Upton Chetwode. 


MISAD VENTURE, 


^$6 


CHAPTER XX. 

ARCHIE RETURNS. 

Why, Bligh, old man, what have you been doing to 
yourself? You look as if you had just had a bout of 
jungle fever ! ” was the remark with which one of his 
brother officers greeted Archie when he reached Aldershot. 

And the others followed suit. They said it was all very 
well for him to pretend that he had been leading a quiet 
life down in the country, but that wouldn’t do. “ Too 
much London is your complaint, my boy,” declared these 
knowing fellows ; and he only contradicted them in a half- 
hearted sort of way, being conscious of his haggard appear- 
ance, and feeling that it must be accounted lor somehow 
or other. He admitted that he was wretchedly seedy, 
which was in fact the truth, and he added that he didn’t 
know why, which was a somewhat less veracious statement. 
About his engagement he said not a word ; for in this 
dreadful misfortune which had overtaken him he could feel 
certain of nothing. It seemed as if trouble in some shape 
must come of it — as if the secret which had already, in 
his mind, raised a barrier between him and the girl whom 
he loved must keep them apart for ever ; though, of course, 
there was no reason why it should, so long as he kept his 
own counsel. There was, too, the possibility — a very 
remote one, no doubt, but still a possibility — that the truth 
might be discovered ; and all day long he kept thinking 
of this, remembering how clear tlie night had been and 
how exposed the spot on which the fatal encounter had 
taken place. A coast-guardsman in the distance might 
well have seen it all. 

Poor Archie had many days of unhappiness before him, 
but he afterwards thought of that first day as the most 
unhappy and the most interminable of his whole life. He 
had a certain amount of duty to do, which filled up a por- 
tion of it, but during the remainder he was in a state of 
almost intolerable suspense and misery, trying most unsuc- 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


*57 


cessfully to be like himself, knowing how necessary it was 
that he should show no signs of mental distress, and ex- 
pecting every moment to receive a telegram which never 
came. There was very little rest for him that night. In- 
stead of sleeping, he tossed about upon his bed and tor- 
mented himself with conjectures. That he would be com- 
municated with as soon as the catastrophe became known 
he felt certain ; he could only suppose that Morton’s body 
had not been found. 

But when the newspapers arrived the next morning that 
surmise was proved to be incorrect. It was the colonel 
who handed him a copy of the Times, saying, “ I’m afraid 
this must refer to one of your people, Bligh.” And there, 
sure enough, was a paragraph headed '•'‘Fatal Fall frovi a 
Cliff , in which it was narrated how Morton Bligh, the 
only son of Mr. Bligh of the Priory, Abbotsport, had met 
with his death in a shockingly sudden manner, while walk- 
ing home at night from the house of a neighbor. 

“ I suppose you would like to go to your uncle ? There 
will be no difficulty about that,” said the colonel, looking 
kindly at the young fellow, whose evident agitation seemed 
only natural under the circumstances ; and Archie mur- 
mured a few words of thanks. 

He thought he had better telegraph to the Priory first ; 
but before he had time to do so the second post brought 
him a letter from Cicely which rendered that unnecessary. 
The letter, written apparently in haste and in a somewhat 
tremulous hand, gave a very brief account of the fatality 
which had occurred, and begged Archie to ask for leave 
and return as soon as possible. 

“ I would have telegraphed for you,” Cicely wrote, “but 
papa did not wish it j he only thought you ought to be 
here for the funeral. He has been very much upset, as 
you may imagine, and of course his health has suffered ; 
but I do hope and trust that he will be better in a day or 
two.” Of her own feelings she scarcely spoke : evidently 
her mind was filled with anxiety for her father and could 
at present hold no other emotion. 

It was with a heavy heart that Archie seated himself in 
the train that afternoon. He was not a man to whom dis- 
simulation came easily, and in his short, sunny life he had 
had so very little experience of trouble that he could not 
put it away from him, as less fortunate people learn per- 


158 


MISADVENTURE. 


force to do. The more he thought of it the more impos- 
sible it seemed to him that he could meet Cicely’s eyes 
without being, detected. How would he ever be able to 
affect the horror and consternation that would be expected 
V of him How . could he get through the horrible duty of 
following to the grave the body of the man whom he had 
killed? It was useless to say to himself that he had not 
really killed Morton, that he had been guilty of no crime. 
That was true ; and if, immediately after the event, he had 
had the courage to say so openly, he might possibly have 
been believed; but by eyasion he had made himself guilty 
of the crime; — guilty,, at any rate, in the eyes of all who 
might subsequently hear of it, perhaps even of his own. 
He had chosen to act as a murderer would have acted, 
and what he had done could never be undone now. So 
early as this he had reached the point which nothing could 
have saved him from reaching sooner or later — the point of 
regretting that he had run away, instead of facing danger. 
The poor fellow was naturally brave and honest, which 
made his plight the more pitiable. “ Perhaps I shall get 
accustomed to it,” he groaned at last. That was the only 
consolation which he could offer to himself, and he had 
not the advantage of being able to believe in it. 

At Abbotsport Road another passenger alighted, to whom 
the footman from the Priory touched his hat. This little 
grizzle-headed man bustled out of the station in front of 
Archie and glanced round at him inquiringly, with his foot 
on the st^p of the carriage, which was waiting. 

“ Oh, Mr. Bligh, I think ? ” said he. “ Let me introduce 
myself. My name is Parsons ; I have been sent for to see 
your uncle.” 

“ I hope that doesn’t mean that he is worse,” said Archie, 
to whom the famous physician was well known by repute. 

‘‘ Well, I hope not,” answered Sir Peter, when they had 
taken their places in the carriage ; “ but to a man in his 
state mental disturbance cannot be otherwise than dan- 
gerous, and his daughter is frightened about him. Natu- 
rally enough, poor girl ! This is a sad business ! ” 

“ Yes,” agreed Archie, trying to say something more, 
but finding that the words stuck in his throat. 

“ Yes, a great shock to your uncle, no doubt ; although, 
as of course you know, his son was not all that he could 
have wished.” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


159 

“ I don't think Morton could be called a good son/’ 
Archie managed to say. 

Sir Peter shook his head. 

“A bad fellow, Pm afraid, if the truth is to be spoken. 
He made himself notorious in many ways, and none of 
them pleasant ways. Still, when a man loses his only son 
it comes upon him as a blow, whatever the son may have 
been worth \ and there is always something awful about a 
sudden death, though I daresay most of us would prefer 
to die suddenly, if we could choose.” 

After this there was a pause, during which the physician 
may have been reflecting that the prospects of the young man 
beside him had probably undergone a great change for the 
better in consequence of his cousin’s death ; for his next 
remark was : — 

“Your uncle’s estates are entailed, I presume?” 

“ No ; he can do what he likes with them,” answered 
Archie, and added, “ but I hope he may enjoy them him- 
self for a long time to come.” 

“ Hope does no harm,” said Sir Peter; “ I am not going 
to extinguish Miss Bligh’s hopes unless she compels me to 
do it. But her father is well aware that his disease is 
incurable, and if you do not know it, I think it is better 
that I should tell you so.” 

“ But you don’t consider him in immediate danger, do 
you ? ” asked Archie. 

“ I did not when I saw him last; this affair may have 
hastened what is ordinarily a slow process, though. And 
so his daughter will get the property, I suppose. Poor 
child ! it isn’t an enviable fate to be a great heiress. And 
there will be nobody to take care of her except the old 
aunt, who didn’t strike me as a very efficient person.” 

Archie was very nearly saying that there would be some- 
body else, but held his peace. He could not shake off the 
impression that something undefinable had separated him 
from Cicely, and it was a relief to him to think that their 
first meeting must take place in the presence of this 
stranger. 

The meeting, in fact, passed off without any painful 
Incident. Cicely greeted him affectionately and seemed to 
be glad that he had come, but it was plain that she was 
far less preoccupied with her lover than with Sir Peter 
Parsons, whom she followed upstairs. Archie went into 


i6o 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


the library, where lie found Miss Skipwith squeezing a 
damp handkercliief in her trembling fingers. The poor 
woman, whom Sir Peter was not alone in deeming ineffi- 
cient, had been completely set on one side for two days, 
and, having nothing to do, had fretted herself into a state 
of nervous excitement which made even Archie’s company 
welcome to her. 

“ Yes,” she said in answer to his first question, I am 
afraid Wilfrid is worse. From what his servant told me, 
he must have had something like a seizure in the night, 
and though he seemed to have rallied this morning. Cicely 
was dreadfully alarmed, and insisted upon telegraphing for 
Sir Peter. How terrible it all is ! I suppose I am very 
wicked, but I can’t help feeling that Morton has always 
done everything that could be done to break his father’s 
heart — even in his death.” 

“ His death, at least, was not intentional,” observed 
Archie, with a queer, incongruous inclination to burst out 
laughing. 

‘‘ No, but the circumstances which caused it were, and 
they were so disgraceful, and everybody knows them ! 
There is no doubt that he was intoxicated when he left 
Upton Chetwode, and I have just heard that the coroner’s 
jury have brought in a verdict reflecting upon Mr. Chet- 
wode for having allowed him to walk away in that state. 
It is very cruel of them to say such things, I think.” 

Archie made no reply. Everything appeared to have 
fallen out in accordance with his anticipations. He was 
sorry that anything disagreeable should have been said 
about Mark, but not sure that that gentleman had not 
deserved it. Ah, if only Morton had been prevented from 
starting on that fatal walk ! He sat listening half uncon- 
sciously to the lamentations of Miss Skipwith, until the 
door opened and Cicely came in, looking less anxious than 
she had done on his arrival. 

“ Sir Peter has relieved my mind,’’ she said ; “ I daresay 
I was too ready to take fright. He says he would like to 
see you for a minute before he goes,” she added turning to 
Archie; “you will find him in the hall. He is in a hurry 
to get back to London, and thinks he will just catch the 
up-train if he starts at once.” 

Archie went out, and meeting Sir Peter at the foot of 
the staircase, said : — 


M/SAD P’EjVTURl!:. 


i6i 


I am glad to hear that you could give a favorable 
report.” 

But Sir Peter shook his head. 

“Well, relatively favorable,” he answered. “I think 
Mr. Bligh has pulled through what might have proved to be 
the last stage of his illness, and it is very possible that he 
may now linger on for many months. On the other hand 
he may take a turn for the worse at any moment. I found 
him a good deal depressed, but he told me that his affairs 
were in order, and that he was easy in his mind about his 
daughter’s future — which is a comfort to him.” Here the 
doctor glanced at Archie and smiled. “You must allow 
me to congratulate you,” he added. “ I rejoice for the 
young lady’s sake as well as for yours.” 

Then he consulted his watch, shook hands hurriedly and 
ran out to the carriage. 

Archie returned to the library with as cheerful a coun- 
tenance as he could assume, but found only Miss Skipwith 
there. 

“ Cicely begs you to excuse her till to-morrow,” the old 
lady said. “ Her father likes to have her near him ; and, 
besides, she has borne up so bravely all this time that she 
is beginning to feel the reaction. Perhaps you will not 
mind dining alone to-night. I have no appetite,, and I 
think I would rather go to my own room.” Miss Skipwith 
hesitated for a moment, then resumed in a lowered voice : 
— “ I am afraid there are a good many painful duties which 
must devolve upon you. The — the remains are to be 
transferred here to-night, I understand, and no doubt 
arrangements will have to be made and directions given. 
Mr. Lowndes kindly offered to help us, but perhaps, now 
that you have come, we ought not to trouble him.” 

“ I am sure I shall only be too glad to spare Cicely and 
Uncle Wilfrid in any way that I can,” answered the young 
man ; and in truth he was glad to be provided with 
occupation, ghastly though that occupation necessarily 
appeared to him. There was a horrible irony in the fate 
which compelled him to receive Morton’s body and give 
orders for its burial ; yeli he dreaded that less than the 
inevitable conversation with Cicely which he foresaw, and 
the postponement of which was a respite to him. 

Late that night, however, when he had done all that had 
to be done, and was sitting in the smoking-room with his 

6 


i 62 


31/s A D VENTURE. 


head on his hands, Cicely stole in for a minute to thank 
him. 

“ You have been very kind and good,” said she ; “ and 
now, Archie, there is one thing I want to suggest j let us 
never mention Morton again if we can help it. I didn’t 
love him, nor did you ; we can’t pretend that we did. 
But we can be silent about him, and — and remember that 
it isn’t for us to judge him any more now.” 

“Yes, that will be best,” cried the young fellow eagerly, 
for it seemed to him that he was being offered the nearest 
approach that could be obtained to that obliteration of the 
past for which he longed so despairingly — “ that will be 
much the best ! We’ll — we’ll try to forget it all, won’t 
we?” 


CHAPTER XXL 

COPPARb’s CONJECTURES. 

It cannot be a very common experience to act as chief 
mourner to a man who has died by your hand, and cer- 
tainly it, cannot be a very agreeable one. Archie, however, 
representing his uncle, who was unable to attend the funeral, 
got through it somehow or other, and his pale face and 
downcast looks were noticed only with approval. Every- 
body now knew (because Mrs. Lowndes had taken care to 
inform everybody) that he was engaged to be married to 
his cousin, and that consequently he would at no distant 
date be de facto if not de jure owner of the Bligh estates 
and the large Bligh fortune ; so that if he could contrive to 
be really sorry for the death of the disreputable person 
whose removal opened up such a fine future for him, he 
must be an uncommonly kind-hearted fellow. 

Notwithstanding Mr. Bligh’s wish that the funeral should 
be as quiet and simple a ceremony as possible, it was ren- 
dered imposing by a great assemblage- of neighbors, whose 
presence must have been- due tq some other motive than 
respect for the deceased. Out of the corner of his eye 
Archie saw them all, and was distressed by an altogether 
mistaken idea that they were looking askance at him. 
After the last words of the solemn service had been read, 


M/SA D VENTURE, 


163 

he had to shake hands with a good many of them, to listen 
to their conventional expressions of sympathy with his 
uncle, and to hear each of them in turn exclaim, “ Shock- 
ing thing!” Sir George Dare, whose countenance was 
habitually adorned by a broad smile, assumed an air of 
gravity which was irresistibly comical while uttering the 
prescribed formula, but allowed his features to relax into 
their formal set when he whispered in Archie’s ear : — 

“ Lucky dog ! I’ve heard all about it. You mustn’t 
mind my saying that I should have preferred somebody 
else whom I could name to be in your shoes. Wish you 
joy all the same, you know ! ” 

Well, this was comforting and kindly meant, and Mr. 
Lowndes, who presently issued from the vestry door, was 
even more warm in his felicitations, declaring that the 
match was one upon which he had long set his heart, and 
that he knew it would bring great happiness to others be- 
sides the young couple. But in spite of what he had said 
to Cicely, the night before, about oblivion, Archie could 
not free himself from the weight of care which oppressed 
him, and he w'as thankful to get back to the Priory and 
hide himself in the smoking-room and be alone. But he 
had not been alone five minutes when the butler came in 
to say that Mr. Bligh wished to see him, and of course he 
could not disobey the summons. 

Mr. Bligh had been moved downstairs and was in the 
library again. He looked much as usual, Archie thought 
— perliaps a little feebler — but when he began to speak 
there was a noticeable change in his voice, and every now 
and then he seemed to have a certain difficulty of articu- 
lation. 

He said : — ■* 

“ Well, my dear fellow, this is a sad house to have 
brought you back to. Among the dead and the dying it 
is hard to keep up one’s spirits. Aldershot would be more 
tolerable, wouldn’t it ? ” 

“ I’d rather be here,” Archie answered. 

‘‘For some reasons I suppose you would. Are those 
reasons powerful enough to keep you here, doyou\think? ” 
He looked almost pleadingly at the young man, who 
replied in some surprise : — 

“ Of course, I should like to stay as long as they’ll let 

me,” 


164 


MISADVENTURE. 


‘‘That would hardly be more than a week, would it? 
I am going to ask a favor of you, Archie ; I want you to 
send in your papers at once. Of course you will wish to 
return to your regiment for a few days and say good-bye 
to your old friends and so forth, but if you and the author- 
ities could be satisfied with that much I should be glad. 
You see you are rather badly wanted here, and may at any 
time be still more wanted. After all, it would be only 
hastening your retirement by a month or two.” 

Archie signified his entire willingness to do as he was 
requested. Any renewal of the old, thoughtless, happy- 
go-lucky life which he had been used to lead in the regi- 
ment would, he felt, be impossible, and assuredly no house 
which contained Cicely could ever be dull or sad for him. 

This latter consideration he mentioned to his uncles, who 
smiled and said : — 

“ That’s as may be. At your age nature demands some 
outlet for latent energy, and philandering, though pleasant, 
doesn’t quite meet the want. However, it might be sup- 
plied, perhaps, if you were inclined to relieve me of some 
of the duties that I can’t perform any longer. Managing 
another man’s estate is a shade less interesting than man- 
aging your own, but it is, and will be, so very nearly your 
own that I should think you might see to things with 
almost all the zest of proprietorship.” Mr. Bligh was 
silent for a moment or two before he added r “ I cannot 
quite make up my mind yet whether I will execute a fresh 
will or not. As matters now stand. Cicely will inherit 
everything, except the sum which I always intended you 
to have. Possibly it would be wiser to make you my heir ; 
because authority ought to belong to the husband, not to 
the wife, generally speaking.” 

“ It would come to exactly the same thing,” said Archie. 

“ Oh, dear, no ; it wouldn’t come to the same thing at 
all. But there are advantages and disadvantages in both 
courses. I must weigh them a little longer, I think. The 
future, you see,” continued Mr. Bligh, musingly, “ is 
always uncertain, and is very seldom what one expects it 
to be.” 

Perhaps it was some vague apprehension suggested by 
these words, or perhaps it was the extreme repugnance 
which he felt to the idea of becoming enriched by Mor- 
ton’s death, that made Archie answer hastily . 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


i6s 

“ I hope you won’t dream of disinheriting Cicely in my 
favor. I don’t think she would like it, and I know I should 
hate it. As for authority, I hope there will never be any 
question of that between us. Whatever she wishes I am 
sure to wish ; and even if I didn’t, 1 should try to make 
her think that I did.” 

Against such youthful and Arcadian notions of matrimo- 
nial existence it was hardly worth while to contend. Mr. 
Bligh, with a half-amused, half-sad glance at his nephew, 
only said : — 

“ Well, I take note of your objection. Thank you for 
giving in to me about your retirement from the army, and 
also for helping us through these dark days as you have 
done. Now I think I must dismiss you ; I can’t talk or 
listen long without getting confused.” 

From that tiine forth Archie’s life began to move 
along the lines which seemed destined to guide it through 
a long vista of happy years to its close. Those lines, to 
all outward appearance, were fallen to him in pleasant 
places, and were, in truth, such as he would have chosen 
in preference to any others ; for he loved the country, and 
the kind of work which his uncle now handed over to him 
was just that which suited his tastes. But the heart 
knoweth its own bitterness. To talk about forgetting was 
ridiculous ; he might as well have attempted to forget a 
toothache. He was a changed man, and he knew that he 
was changed, and he feared that others must know it too. 
Sometimes Cicely looked at him in a surprised, inquiring 
way which tortured him. Did she suspect anything? 
Would she ever suspect ? He brooded over such thoughts 
until he almost felt as if discovery would be better than 
suspicion. 

In reality Cicely noticed nothing more than that he was 
depressed at times, and that did not strike her as surpris- 
ing. Of course it must be dull for him to be buried down 
in the country at that season of the year, with two women 
and an invalid, and of course a house of mourning cannot 
very Avell be made cheerful. She thought him very good 
and uncomplaining, and when she was not with her father 
(but of late she had been nervously unwilling to leave her 
father for long) she did her best to amuse him.^ In that 
way they had some rides and walks together, which raised 
his spirits for the time being and increased his adoration 


MISADVENTURE. 


1 66 

for his betrothed. She iiQver said anything now about not 
being in love with him ; so that he had moments of joyful 
hope which were perhaps as little justified as his fears. 

The latter, however, predominated, and it did not take 
much to rouse them into full activity. One afternoon, for 
example, he was terribly scared by certain remarks of old 
Coppard’s, whom he encountered in the main street of 
Abbotsport, and who stopped to speak to him. Coppard 
might have been drinking rather more than was good for 
him, and indeed Archie was pretty sure that he had; but 
that did not account for the man’s disquieting and sug- 
gestive manner. For he pulled up in the middle of the 
street, with his hands in his pockets and his legs very wide 
apart, as though he did not intend the other to escape him, 
and fixing a steady, peculiar stare — surely it was a peculiar 
stare — upon Archie’s face, began at once to talk about the 
recent catastrophe. 

“ ’Twas a cur’ous thing to happen, look at it what way 
you will, sir,” said he. “ I can’t account for it to 
my satisfaction, nohow. Come to consider the evidence 
and put this and that together, it do seem strange. Intos- 
sicated with liquor I make no doubt he were, poor gentle- 
man ; but then, says I to myself, if a man could keep his 
legs all that distance, what could ever ha’ made him lose 
’em in the one spot where he was sartin sure for to kill his- 
self if he fell? ‘ Misadwentur,’ says the crowner’s jury; 
and no fools they, if they’d ha’ stopped at that ! Misad- 
wentLir is a word as covers a power o’ meanin’s.” 

“ What meaning do you want to give to it ? ” asked 
Archie, turning pale. “ Are you suggesting that my cousin 
committed suicide ? ” 

“ I don’t suggest nothin’ at all, sir,” answered Coppard ; 
— “ I wouldn’t make so free. I on’y merely says I can’t 
account for it — not to my own satisfaction. Don’t know 
whether it strikes you as it does me, sir, but by my way o’ 
thinkin’ intossication don’t explain it.” 

^ “ The coroner’s jury appear to have thought that a suffi- 
cient explanation,” observed Archie. 

“ So they do, sir, and nobody can’t blame ’em, with the 
little evidence they had to go upon. But it’s like this, do 
you see, sir? A man is found dead at the bottom of a 
cliff. How did he come there? Well, you has to take 
your choice of three ways ” — and Coppard solemnly 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


167 


checked them off on the tips of his big, blunt fingers — ■ 
“ there’s accident, there’s sooicide, and there’s foul play. 
Now I’ve been over the ground up top o’ the cliff very 
careful, and I’ve seen traces o’ what look to me uncommon 
like a struggle.” 

“ Why didn’t you say so before, then ? ” asked Archie, 
who now felt almost sure that Coppard suspected him. 
“ Don’t you know that it was your duty to state every- 
thing that could throw light upon the affair ? ” 

“ Never heerd tell on it, sir,” answered Coppard. “ My 
dooty, as I was given to understand, was to tell the truth, 
the whole truth, and nothin’ but the truth. Now, I 
couldn’t ha’ swore as a struggle had took place. Not by 
no means. Let alone as I’d sooner perjure myself than 
I’d distress Miss Cicely. With you ’tis different, sir. The 
young scpiire, he worn’t your brother, nor yet you and he 
worn’t particular good friends, I b’lieve. Whether he 
come by his death this way or that don’t make no great 
odds to you.” 

Archie’s throat felt dry and parched. He could not 
speak, but stood, with knitted brows, gazing at the old 
fisherman, who presently resumed : — . 

Beggin’ of your pardon, sir, is it true what I’ve heerd 
tell — that you and Miss Cicely is to be man and wife ? ” 

‘ Yes,” answered Archie shortly, “ it is true.” 

‘‘Then I ain’t got no more to say, sir. I wouldn’t have 
Miss Cicely worrited, not if ’twas ever so. If it had been 
only you as was consarned I don’t know but what I might 
ha’ spoke my mind more free ; but worritin’ you will mean 
worritin’ she now, I reckon.” 

“ You’ll be good enough to speak your mind here and 
now,” returned Archie, with a sudden rush of anger. 
“ You 'are making insinuations which I don’t understand 
and won’t submit to. Do you accuse me of having caused 
my cousin’s death ? ” 

“ Lord save us, sir ! ” exclaimed Coppard, v/ith uplifted 
hands, “ what an awful thing to say ! No, sir ; what I was 
thinkin’ of — since you border me to speak out — was this. 
It come to my bearin’ as you missed your train that there 
night, and was walkin’ about the country for a matter of 
two hours, waitin’ for the next one. Now, thinks I, we 
knows from Mr. Chetwode as the haccident occurred most 
probable betwixt eleven and twelve o’clock, and if so be as 


MISADVENTURE. 


1 68 


f 


there was foul play, and that young gentleman was any- 
where in the neighborhood, why, he might ha’ seen some- 
body, or heerd somethin’, thinks I.” 

“ I neither heard nor saw anything,” answered Archie, 
telling this first direct lie with a sickening sense of self- 
contempt ; although, to be sure, it is no worse to tell lies 
than to act them. 

“ You did not, sir ? Well, so much the better, maybe. 
We can’t bring back the dead, and I shouldn’t ha’ named 
this to you, sir— for I see it’s put you about — without you’d 
pressed me to it. Henceforward I shall keep my mouth 
shut, sir, you may depend.” 

Archie paused irresolutely. That Coppard had spoken 
out all that was in his mind he did not believe ; yet would 
it be prudent to push him further ? The man could not 
know anything, could not prove anything. His momen- 
tary flash of wrath had expired, and he now once more 
felt wretched, frightened, degraded, anxious chiefly to close 
the interview and get away. Should he tip Coppard, of 
would that look too much like paying hush-money ? 
Finally he decided to say : — 

“Well, my man, I think you can’t do better than keep 
your mouth shut if you have nothing more than a very doubt- 
ful sort of conjecture to bring forward. But of course you 
can do just as you please about- it. Here’s half-a-crown 
for you ; I wouldn’t spend it in drink if I were you.” 

There was no harm, surely, in so small a donation as 
that ; one doesn’t buy secrecy with half-a-crown. 

Coppard, at any rate, did not seem to regard it in the 
light of a bribe. He touched his hat, pocketed the coin 
and said reproachfully : — 

“ Drink, sir ? ’Tis little enough o’ that us poor fellows 
gets ! What I shall spend this here on is bread-^bread 
for my missus and the young ’uns, as wants it badly.” 

“ Well, I hope you’ll be as good as your word,” said 
Archie, turning away. 

When he had time to collect his ideas he perceived that 
he had been far too easily frightened^ and also that if he 
could not control himself better he would infallibly betray 
his secret ere long. 

It comes to this,” he muttered, “ that I must either 
learn to tell lies without wincing or throw up the spong.^? at 
once. Why haven’t I got a face like that fellow Chetwode’s ? 


3IISA D VENTURE, 


169 


The fact is that I can’t really be in danger from anybody 
except myself.” 

That he had already fallen into one stupid blunder he 
had been reminded by Coppard’s observations ; he ought 
certainly to have mentioned the circumstance of his having 
missed his train on the night of Morton’s death. Why he 
had neglected to do so he hardly knew, except that he had 
shrunk from any allusion to that terrible evening ; but he 
now saw that the omission must be repaired as soon as 
possible, and he took the first opportunity that offered of 
saying carelessly to Cicely : — 

“ By the way, I never told you that you were right 
about my having run things too fine when I left here for 
Aldershot. I reached the station just in time to see the 
train go out, and I had to wait for the 12.15.” 

“ Oh, did you ? How very tiresome for you ! ” she ex- 
claimed. “ What did you do with yourself all that time? ” 

‘‘ I walked about. It was a fine night, you know.” 

She gave a little shiver. 

“ Oh, yes ; it was that night, of course.” And then after 
a pause, during which Archie’s heart began to thump : — 
“ If only you had walked as far as the Upton Chetwode 
path ! But we won’t think about that.” 

She was in truth quite as desirous of avoiding the sub- 
ject as he could be, and neither then norat any subsequent 
time did it occur to her to put this and that together after 
the manner of Coppard. Her one great anxiety in those 
days was to devise some means of raising her father’s 
spirits, which were painfully depressed, and next to that 
she wanted to cheer up Archie, who also seemed to be in 
need of someone to cheer him up. If she v/as successful in 
neither case she was scarcely conscious of her failure ; for 
both men loved her so much that the mere fact of seeing 
her was their greatest' pleasure in life, and gave them a 
fictitious air of light-iieartedness while she was near. 

Archie, as has been said, was really light-hearted by fits 
and starts ; and as the days grew longer and warmer, and 
summer set in in earnest, he began — without knowing it 
])erhaps — to derive that sort of enjoyment from existence 
which sunshine and the voices of nature bring to those 
whose minds are ill at ease. When a man of his age longs 
above all things for peace it may Ijie assumed that he is in 
a bad way ; but at any rate no place could be better 


170 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


adapted than Abbotsport for the satisfaction of such long- 
ings. After a time he went for a day or two to Aldershot, 
as his uncle had suggested that he should do, took leave 
of his old comrades, made the usual valedictory addition 
to the regimental plate and took a final part in the horse- 
play which he had found so delightful in days gone by. 
The change did him good, but he was glad to get back to 
the Priory again, and he told Cicely that he didn’t think he 
should ever care to leave home for long after they were 
married. 

“ That is fortunate,” she answered ; “ for I am quite sure 
that I shall not.” 

But Miss Skipwith, who chanced to overhear this 
expression of community of tastes, shook- her head, for she 
had never contrived to banish the idea that Archie was 
more in love with the Priory than with his cousin. 

“It will end badly. When people love one another they 
don’t care where they live,” was the old lady’s muttered 
comment upon the fragment of dialogue which had reached 
her ears. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

VICTOR REAPPEARS. 

During most London seasons there is one particular per- 
son who is a novelty and a success. The success, no 
doubt, is usually dependent and consequent upon the 
novelty, and those who in the course of one year have en- 
joyed the unstinted hospit^-lity, kindness and flattery of 
the British capital will do well to betake themselves else- 
where the next, lest they be painfully reminded of the 
instability of men and things. While it lasts, however^ 
that kind of popularity is probably pleasant to everybody, 
and it was certainly very pleasant to Madame Souravieff, 
who prided herself upon her social gifts. 

^These, it must be admitted, were considerably above the 
average, and as she appeared to have plenty of money and 
had been taken up at the outset by certain distinguished 
people, she had little difficulty in securing a general 
appreciation of them. Then, too, it was known that she 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


171 

was a political something-or-other — perhaj^s a Nihilist, per- 
haps a paid or honorary agent of the Russian Government, 
it did not much matter which — and that of course lent an 
additional interest to her ways and manners. Such was 
tlie exoteric view of her, and it had the effect of earning 
for her more invitations to dinners and balls than she could 
possibly accept. But in tlie political world there were not 
wanting individuals who took her with a seriousness which 
would have amused her husband immensely. Grave 
statesmen listened with courtesy and attention to her per- 
suasive eloquence ; some of them (for she was really a 
very pretty woman, and her talk was almost as pretty as 
her face) even went the length of saying that they agreed 
with her to a great extent, and deplored, as she did, the 
ignorant obstinacy and obstinate ignorance of public 
opinion in this country. Moreover, she accomplished the 
complete subjugation of a newspaper editor, whom she 
asked to dinner repeatedly, and who was so won over by 
her fascinations or her arguments that he began writing 
leading articles upon the Eastern question whicli caused 
the constant reader to rub his eyes in stupefaction. Other 
editors, who perhaps had stuffed wax into their ears and 
had resisted the wiles of the siren, exposed in scathing 
terms the folly of this most unpatriotic man : for upwards of 
a fortnight a heated controversy raged between Russophiles 
and Russophobes, and hints of the existence of feminine 
influence were printed in language plain enough to be un- 
derstanded of the people. All of which served to enhance 
Madame Souravieffs reputation. 

In short, she amused herself very well indeed, and was 
so busy that she had less time than usual for writing 
letters to Mark (dietwode and reading his replies. Other- 
wise she might possibly have noticed a gradual and sus- 
picious change in the tone of his remarks about Miss 
Bligh. He was very cautious, he did not say much, but 
then he left a good deal unsaid, and though he still wrote 
as if this project of marrying him to the heiress was one 
for which his correspondent alone was responsible, there 
were signs that it had ceased to be in any way disagree- 
able to him. The Russian lady, however, was not 
alarmed. She had formed a mental picture of Cicely, in 
which that young lady figured as a simple rustic maiden 
who must be moulded and directed and made use of, but 


172 


MISADVENTURE. 


who should certainly be treated with all kindness and con- 
sideration. Mark, no doubt, would be bored by her at 
times ; but Mark was chivalrous, he would make an excel- 
lent husband, as husbands go, and he would 'always 
remember that he was indebted to his wife’s fortune for 
the prominent political position which he would assuredly 
acquire sooner or later. 

When Madame Squravieff heard the news of Morton’s 
sudden death and realized that the so-called heiress would 
now become an heiress indeed, she rejoiced with a joy 
which, to give her her due, was almost entirely unselfish. 
She wrote a letter of hearty congratulation to Mark, from 
whom, in the course of a day or two, she received a very 
laconic reply. 

“ I have been preserved from exhibiting any indecent 
glee over the event which affords you so much satisfaction,” 
he wrote, “ because it does not, and never will, affect my 
destiny in the smallest degree. Irresistible as I am. Miss 
Bligh has managed to resist me. She is engaged to be 
married to her cousin, the young officer of cavalry, and I 
see myself condemned to celibacy, and to perpetual 
poverty, which is perhaps worse. For reasons which I 
need not specify, I have lately been cutting down a good 
many of my trees ; but I dare say there still remains one 
with a bough solid enough for me to hang myself upon.” 

Madame Souravieff was much vexed. To accept a de- 
feat was never agreeable to her, and Mark’s supineness in 
the presence of adverse circumstances had often before this 
caused her irritation. 

“ He is insupportable,” she muttered impatiently. “ He 
gives in without a struggle ; and how is one to help him, 
if he will not help himself ? An engagement — bah ! What 
are engagements in England ? They have no force, no 
family sanction ; they are made and broken every day. 
This one must be broken.” 

And straightway she despatched to Upton Chetwode 
peremptory instructions to that effect. 

These apparently remained without result. For several 
weeks she had not so much as a line from Mark, and she 
was growing seriously uneasy about him when, one even- 
ing, she encountered for the second time the little lawyer 
who had asked to be introduced to her at Lord Queens- 
ferry’s soon after her arrival in London. Mr. Wingfield 


MIS A D I ^ENTURE. 


73 


bowed over his folded hands and recalled himself to the 
lady’s recollection. She smiled and extended her hand to 
him amia.dy ; for it was her rule to be amiable to every- 
body, added to which she thought that this man of law 
might have had some recent news of his client. 

Her surmise proved to be correct. Mr. Wingfield had 
heard that very morning from Mark, who was desperately 
eager to quit the neighborhood of Abbotsport, and was 
willing to let his house at a nominal rent to anybody who 
could be induced to relieve him of the expense of keeping 
it up. 

“ I told him that I myself might very likely take his 
house at the end of the season,” remarked Madame Soura- 
vieff. “ Is it inhabitable, his house ? ” 

“ Well — it is inhabited,” answered the lawyer, with a 
smile. 

‘‘ At all events, it could soon be made inhabitable, I 
have no doubt. And so he is anxious to run away ? That 
is very foolish of him in my opinion. W’hat do you 
think } ” 

Mr. Wingfield was at first not very willing to say what 
he thought ; but after he had been talked to with en- 
gaging candor for some minutes, he confessed that the news 
of Miss Bligh’s engagement to her cousin had been a dis- 
appointment to him, and that he, too, had doubts as to 
whetlier it was necessarily irrevocable. 

“ It is to be remembered, however,” he added, “ that if 
the young lady should cancel her engagement during her 
father’s lifetime, an alteration in her father’s will would be 
the probable consequence. At present, if I am correctly 
informed, she has been constituted sole heiress ; but that 
is because she is going to marry a Bligh.” 

Madame Soiiravieff was not slow to seize the point of 
this warning. 

“ I see,” she replied musingly. “ And how much longer 
will Mr. Bligh live, do you suppose? ” 

The lawyer made a deprecating gesture and laughed. 

“ We must not allow our attachment to our friends to 
lead us into wishing for anybody’s death,” said he, “ but I 
am afraid poor Mr. Bligh is in a very precarious state. 
Undef all the circumstances, I should doubt whether the 
marriage would take place for some time to come.”. 

After this he took an early opportunity of withdrawing, 


MISADVENTURE, 


174 

having attained his object. It would be all very well for a 
plotting and contriving woman to suggest schemes to Mark 
which, though a shade equivocal in themselves, would 
doubtless be productive of benefit to all concerned in the 
long run, but a respectable solicitor had better not mix 
himself up with such transactions. 

Madame Souravieff justified his somewhat uncivil esti- 
mate of her when she returned home from the party at 
which they had met ; for instead of going to bed she sat up 
for a considerable length of time hatching plots and contri- 
vances. She was disinterestedly anxious for Mark’s ad- 
vancement in life ; but she was also anxious to obtain con- 
trol over a part of the wealth which must shortly be at Miss 
Bligh’s disposal. No cause can make headway without 
funds ; and although her husband made ami)le provision 
for her, her personal expenses were too heavy to allow 
of her forwarding large or constant remittances to the patri- 
otic persons who appealed to her by almost every post. 
It was, therefore, most desirable that Mark should be 
encouraged and stirred up, and there was little hope that 
that could be done without personal supervision. 

“ I must go to him,” was her conclusion. ‘‘ One would 
have liked to finish the season here ; but perhaps, after 
all, it is best to retire at a time when one is sure to be 
missed. That gives one a better chance of being welcomed 
when one returns.” 

On the following morning she was seated at her writing 
table by one of the windows, and had already scribbled 
off the opening sentences of a letter wliich was destined to 
prepare Mark for the treat which was in store for him, 
when she espied on the opposite side of the street the 
well-known form of Count Souravieff’s confidential servant. 

“AgainI” she exclaimed. “ The poor dear man must 
have lost his head. What can he think that he will gain 
by sending his spies here now? He must be very badly 
informed if he doesn’t know that Mark left London ages 
ago ! ” 

But the obsequious Victor, who was ushered into her 
presence a few minutes later, after he had rung at the door, 
and been granted the interview which he respectfully 
craved, was able to show that his present visit was 'paid in 
a more honorable capacity than that with which she had 
credited him. 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


■ 175 


Madame la Cof7itesse is mistaken,” said he, in reply 
to her first contemptuous remark ; Monsieur le Comte has 
not sent me here to make any report to him, but simply 
to deliver a message on his behalf.” 

“ That is a very regal fashion of communicating with 
me. However, since it amuses him — And what is your 
message, pray ? ” 

Madame la Comtesse will perhaps allow me to make a 
little explanation. It appears that madame has had a 
great deal of success in London (one would expect no 
less !), that she has been very well received by the Ministers 
of the Queen, and that she has— how shall I express it ? — 
produced impressions which may possibly influence the 
future foreign policy of this country.” 

Madame Souravieff bent her head and smiled slightly ; 
this tribute to her political importance did not displease 
her. 

“ Rumors of this,” continued Victor, “ have reached us 
in our retirement, and have, I regret to say, had a dis- 
quieting effect on Monsieur le ComteT 

“Impossible, my good Victor,” returned Madame Soura- 
vieff, “ that you can regret that more than 1 do. Convey 
the assurance of my sympathy to your master, and at the 
same time beg him to believe that any change which I may 
be able to bring about in the foreign policy of this country 
will not be to the disadvantage of my own.” 

Victor said that the patriotism of madame was above 
suspicion and must be patent to everybody. Unfortu- 
nately, however, Monsieur le Co7nte was extremely sensi- 
tive upon the subject of unauthorized diplomacy, and for 
some time past he had feared that madame’s activity — 
doubtless praiseworthy in itself — might not be receiving 
the countenance or support of the Russian ambassador at 
the Court of St. James’. These fears had recently been 
confirmed in an unpleasant manner by a communication 
from St. Petersburg, in which 7no7isieur had been sharply 
rebuked, and had been invited to exercise his domestic 
authority without delay. It was not considered desirable, 
tno7isie7ir had been informed, that private individuals 
should claim the privilege of speaking, however indirectly, 
in the name of His Majesty the Czar. Such presumption 
could not be tolerated and must cease. • ■ - 

Madame la Co77itesse will perceive,” observed Victof 


176 


M/S A D VENTURE. 


in conclusion, “ that the language used was very peremp- 
tory.” 

This was not welcome hearing to Madame Souravieff, 
who had many irons in the fire, and was well aware that 
some of her schemes must of necessity be disavowed and 
ignored by the accredited representatives of her country, 
yet whose influence in high circles had been largely due to 
the circumstance that those accredited representatives had 
seemed to take a benevolent interest in her. 

“ Well,” she said sharply, “ and afterwards ? ” 

The valet raised his shoulders and displayed the palms 
of his hands. 

“ With all submission,” answered he, “ my orders are to 
see that viadame leaves London forthwith.” 

“ And if I refuse ? ” 

“ In that case, there will remain the means of persua- 
sion that madame knows of.” 

Nothing could be more cogent. It is useless to dispute 
the commands of those who have control over the supplies, 
and although Madame Souravieff was not devoid of power 
(because it was open to her to return to her husband and 
make herself so abominably disagreeable to him that he 
would offer her any money to go away again), he was 
evidently able to enforce her departure from London. As 
she had already almost made up her mind to depart, this 
did not distress her much ; but of course she made a great 
grievance of it. It was impossible, she said, to take one- 
self off like that from one moment to another ; she must at 
least have a week in which to find some shelter. She had 
thought of spending the summer very quietly in some 
remote country district. Would that arrangement be con- 
sidered satisfactory ? It was not, she presumed, intended 
to banish her from England altogether. 

Victor, trying to conceal his surprise at this sudden 
surrender, replied that he believed this plan would satisfy 
monsieur. 

“ It is not impossible,” continued Madame Souravieff, 
“ that I may take a country house belonging to Mr. Chet- 
wode.” 

The valet raised his eyebrows. 

“ A thousand pardons, viadame'' said he ; “ but is it 
peripitted to me to inquire whether the master of the 
"house would remain in it ? ” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


177 


Certainly not ; and if you ever dare to make such an 
insolent speech to me again I will take measures to make 
you regret it. I have already bribed you, and I could at 
any time obtain your dismissal : you must be aware 
of that. Nevertheless, you had better not disturb the 
count’s mind by mentioning to him the name of the gentle- 
man whose house I propose to take. Here is some money 
for you.” 

She tossed him a bank-note (one of the count’s bank- 
notes) and dismissed him with the remark that he would 
probably be able to report the completion of his mission 
within a week. Then she sat down and began a long letter 
to Mark Chetwode. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 
mark’s tenant. 

From the day when Mark Chetwode admitted to himself 
his love for Cicely, he had no other wish than to leave 
Abbotsport for ever. He was not a vain man, but he hated 
to be ridiculous ; and every time that he thought of his 
recent self-confidence he experienced a twinge about the re- 
gion of the heart, which was caused almost as much by mor- 
tification as by the misery of unrequited love. How could 
he have been so fatuous ? — he who prided himself upon his 
dispassionate judgment and freedom from illusions of any 
kind. He stood before the looking-glass and shrugged his 
shoulders in dismal derision of the image he saw reflected 
there. What a lined, unattractive, tired-looking face ! How 
absurd to imagine that it is possible to fall in love with 
anything except beauty or at the very least, youth ! 
Intellectually he was perhaps Archie Bligh’s superior, but 
physically he was beyond measure the inferior of that stal- 
wart young fellow, and he had been an utter fool not to 
recognize his inferiority as well as its inevitable con- 
sequences. 

With these reflections and others of a like nature to 
occupy him, his customary calm philosophy soon gave 
way to the irritable despair of a caged animal. He was 
dying to get away ; but how could he get away without 


178 


M/SAD VENTURE. 


money and with that useless millstone of a house about his 
neck ? It is even possible that there may have been yet 
another cause for his lingering at Upton Chetwode, and 
that although he had abandoned all hope, he still hungered 
and thirsted for the sight of Cicely’s face. That some- 
what doubtful boon seemed, however, to be unattainable. 
The family at tiie Priory were, of course, living in the 
strictest retirement, and when he had called once to 
inquire after Mr. Bhgh’s health — upon which occasion he 
was not invited to enter the house — he felt that he had no 
excuse for further intrusion. 

Chance was kind,, or unkind, to him at length on a 
sunny afternoon when, strolling through one of the woods 
which bordered his property, he was brought face to face 
with Miss Bligh, who was returning home from the Rectory. 
She could not very well pass him without speaking, nor, 
for the matter of that, did such appear to be her wish. She 
looked more beautiful than ever, he thought, in her deep 
mourning, which threw up the clear whiteness of her skin, 
and although she was a little grave, she did not affect the 
subdued manner usual with those who have experienced a 
recent bereavement. About that bereavement nothing 
was said ; she spoke principally of her father, who, as she 
declared with an eagerness which betrayed misgiving, was 
very much better than he had been. 

Not without hesitation did Mark make up his mind to 
ask whether the rumor which had reached him of her 
betrothal to her cousin was correct. He looked her full 
in the face while he put the question, and a faint flush 
mounted into her cheeks, but she replied without 
embarrassment : — * 

“ Yes, it is tr^i^ diat we are engaged. We haven’t given 
it out publicly, because the engagement may very likely be 
a long one. I couldn’t think of leaving papa until he is 
stronger.” 

Mark made use of some conventional phrases, for which 
she thanked him and then came a pause. Perhaps his 
next observation was not in very good taste, but he had 
an intense desire to know for certain whether this match 
was one of love or convenience. So he said : — 

In England and America, but nowhere else as far as 
I know, ladies are understood to have the privilege of 
consulting their own inclinations in the matter of marriage, 


MISADVENTURE. 


179 

but I have been told that this right is not invariably 
respected. I hope it has been in your case.” 

Thereupon she flushed again, and this time a good deal 
more deeply. 

‘•If you knew me a little better,” she replied, “you 
would hardly doubt that, I think. And,” she added, with 
a perceptible touch of indignation in her tone, “ if anybody 
has been telling you — that sort of thing will be said, I 
daresay — that I am being forced into this marriage for 
family reasons, you may contradict your informant upon 
my authority.” 

Well, that at any rate was explicit and conclusive 
enough. 

It was on the following day that Mark wrote that 
despairing letter to Mr. Wingfield which, as we have seen, 
brought about, for one of its consequences, Madame 
Souravieff’s determination to become his tenant. The 
announcement of this determination, which was expressed 
in a thoroughly characteristic style, reached him shortly 
afterwards. 

“ I take your house for three months from this day,” 
Madame Souravieff wrote ; “ therefore make your arrange- 
ments accordingly. Do not, however, include your exit 
from the neighborhood of Abbotsport among them, or the 
bargain is void. I know you, my dear Mark ; you are 
like one of those strategists who withdraw their forces as 
soon as they perceive that they have been beaten accord- 
ing to the rules of war. The people who win battles don’t 
trouble their heads about the rules of war. They go on 
fighting, and then, lo and behold ! it turns out that the 
rules of war, like other rules, have exceptions. I am one 
of those people, and as you are under my orders (at least, 
you profess to be) you will oblige me by standing your 
ground until I give you the signal to advance and gain the 
victory. 

“ I do not ask you to remain in your own house as my 
guest ; that you never would consent to do, and I admit 
that the arrangement would present difficulties. But you 
will easily find quarters near at hand. 

“ We will not have a formal lease, please ; only ‘tell me 
what I am to pay. The other day I was offered a house 
in the country for the summer months at a rent of thirty 
jruineas a week. Will that do? I do not choose to give 

o 


i8o 


MISADVENTURE. 


less — which you will almost certainly tell me to do — but 
of course I will willingly give more.” 

Then followed instructions that no preparations were 
to be made for her reception. She would send her own 
servants down a few days in advance, and they would see 
to all that was necessary. 

It was not immediately that Mark decided to accept 
this very liberal offer. For one thing it denied him just 
what he wanted, freedom and escape ; added to which he 
shrank from the idea of being compelled to simulate a 
worn-out love and dissimulate a new and far more ardent 
one. But in truth the offer was difficult to refuse. Fie 
could put forward no reason for refusal which would be 
considered valid for a moment ; and besides, in spite of 
himself, the cheery self-reliance of the woman who had so 
long held sway over him moved him a little. There was, 
after all, something in what she said ; battles are never lost 
until they are won. It even occurred to him as a 
possibility that he might be bold and confess the true state 
of affairs. Feminine nature is a curious thing, and have 
there not been instances of women who have helped the 
man who once loved them to marry somebody else ? But 
he soon dismissed this preposterous idea — utie idie sau~ 
grefiueA^?> he called it, for he thought more often in French 
than in English. What seemed a less unreasonable thing 
to hope for was that, after a time, Madame SouravieS 
would grant him a short leave of absence, which it would 
be easy to find some excuse for prolonging. He balanced 
\\\Q pros against the cofis for an hour or thereabouts ; but 
from the first it had been a foregone conclusion that 
Madame Souravieff would be obeyed, and an intimation 
that Upton Chetwode would be immediately vacated by 
its owner was despatched to her when the post went out. 

Having thus committed himself, Mark summoned his 
factotum, to whom he said briefly : — 

“ Pierre, I have let this house for the summer to Madame 
Souravieff, and she will take possession at once. I do not 
propose to leave the neighborhood just yet, so you will 
have to find quarters for me somewhere near.” 

Pierre observed that suitable quarters might be a little 
difficult to discover at such short notice. 

“ We must put up with unsuitable ones then,” returned 
his master. Anything will do. I am not particular.” 


M/S.-1JD VENTURE, 


i3i 

He was in reality extremely particular ; but for some 
time past he had been living in a state of discomfort which 
before his arrival in England had been unknown to him ; 
so that he was to some extent broken in, and was able to 
submit Avithout a murmur to the prospect of housing him- 
self in the lodgings above Mr. Simpkins the grocer’s shop, 
which where all that the active Pierre could offer him, 
after a day of search and inquiry. 

“ It must be confessed that there is an odor of cheese 
and of something else — I think it must be brown sugar— 
which penetrates into every part of the house of Simpkins,” 
Pierre said apologetically, “ but the rooms themselves 
are not so bad. It appears that several of the assistant 
pasteurs — cures,, he called them — have lived there and 
have not complained. For the rest, I su])pose that mon- 
sieur has not the intention of remaining long in Abbots- 
port.” 

Monsieur, who was not given to be communicative, took 
no notice of the last observation ; he merely ordered 
Pierre to back up forthwith, and on the ensuing morning 
Mr. Simpkins bustled out into the street in his shirt- 
sleeves and a white apron to receive the gentleman upon 
whom he now remembered with regret that he had lately 
been somewhat severe while discharging a public duty. 

“No fault of mine, sir,” he took occasion to explain. 

Personally I was dead against saying anything of the 
kind j but until you’ve served on a jury you can’t form no 
idea of the hobstinacy of some jurymen, sir. We have to 
humor ’em a bit or we shouldn’t get no verdict at all.” 

“ I assure you I never thought of attaching the smallest 
importance to the proceedings of any of you,” answered 
Mark urbanely. “ Pray don’t let me keep you away from 
your business any longer now. ” 

Simpkins, therefore, had to retire without finding out 
anything about the foreign lady who had so suddenly and 
incomprehensibly been seized with a fancy for Upton 
Chetwode. He avenged himself during the remainder of 
the day by telling his customers that for his part he didn’t 
believe the mysterious stranger to be no lady at all, and 
that foreigners were a miserable, half-starved lot. at best. 

“ Poor }.Ir. Morant, he was a gentleman and kep’ up what 
I call a ])roper establishment ; but one can’t ’ardly ’ope to 
see another like him in that tumbledown old place.” 


i 82 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


This, however, was a hasty and prejudiced assumption, 
as Mr. Simpkins was the first to admit when Madame 
Souravieff arrived with an imposing escort of domestics 
and sent him an order for groceries which caused his 
round eyes to goggle like a toad’s. The political interests 
of Russia do not, unfortunately, coincide altogether with 
ours, and this inclines many of us to be more alive to 
Russian defects than to Russian virtues ; but nobody can 
deny these people the merit of spending their money 
freely. It is a fine quality, and every true Briton appre- 
ciates it. 

Mark was familiar with Madame Souravieff’s regal way 
of doing things, and her faculty for making herself very 
comfortable wherever she went, but even he was amazed 
when he went to pay his^ respects to her and saw the 
transformation which a few days had effected in his dilapi- 
dated mansion. 

“You are marvelous!” he exclaimed. “Nobody in 
the world but you could work these miracles. How do you 
contrive it ? ” 

“ Nobody but a nomad knows how to pitch a tent,” she 
answered, laughing ; “ but when once the trick has been 
acquired it is simple enough. If I never had any more 
marvelous feats to perform than a little arrangement of 
upholstery, perhaps I should not look as old for my age 
as I do.” 

He made the requisite rejoinder, and then observed that 
she had now undertaken a feat which looked to him very 
like an impossibility. 

“Well,” said she, “ that is what remains to be seen. I 
admit that it will be impossible unless you help me, and 
we shall have to go to work with a good deal of caution. 
Luckily, there is no need for haste. The old gentleman 
must die in the belief that his daughter will marry her 
cousin ; otherwise you would risk losing the estates 
altogether.” 

Mark pulled a wry face. 

“ I don’t think we shall succeed,” he said. “ Is it worth 
while to be dishonorable and then to fail?” 

“ Oh, if you begin to make objections at the outset I ” 

“ I don’t wish to make objections ; but I have a preju- 
dice in favor of keeping my hands clean.” 

“You can wash them as soon as you have done your 


M/s A D VENTURE. 


183 

Work. It is chiefly for that purpose that soap and water 
and religious creeds exist, d'he work of the world isn’t 
clean work, as you ought to know. You belong to 
societies which are not over scrupulous in the means that 
they employ to secure their ends.” 

“ Do I ? Well, I suppose I do. But then they never 
secure their ends, and, so far as I know, they seldom go 
beyond talking of the means. At any rate, they have 
never asked me to assassinate anybody.” 

“ They might, though.” 

Yes, that is a pleasing reflection. But public and 
private affairs don’t stand- upon quite the same footing, do 
they ? ” 

Madame Souravieff made an impatient gesture. “Let 
us understand one another, Mark,” said she. “ You have 
an opportunity now winch does not come twice in a life- 
time. If you don’t care to take advantage of it, tell me so, 
and you will spare me a good deal of trouble. But if you 
will be content to do as I tell you, the remainder of your 
life will most likely be much happier than mine. Do you 
think I never look forward to the future? Do you think 
that, if I were a selfish woman, I shouldn’t prefer to leave 
you as you are ? Only you are too cold and too sceptical 
to believe that any human being can be disinterested.” 

He made his peace with her and promised to obey her 
orders, not seeing that any other course was open to him. 
He could not tell her why he was sensitive in respect of his 
dealings with Cicely, and he was afraid that if he said any 
more about it she would guess. So he listened to the 
instructions that she had to give him, and answered to the 
best of his ability certain shrewd questions which she put 
to him with regard both to Cicely and to her affianced 
lover. 

“ The outlook is more promising than I expected,” was 
her conclusion. “ Such a girl as you describe will certainly 
grow tired of such a man if she has to talk to him and to 
nobody else every day for weeks together. Your part will 
be a very easy one at first. You will not obtrude yourself, 
but you will see her sometimes by accident, and when you 
do you will take care to let her perceive the difference 
between a cultivated man of the world and a stupid young 
soldier. If you could insinuate very discreetly that you 
were the victim of a hopeless passion, that would do no 
harm.” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


1 84 

For the part assigned to him Mark felt that he possessed 
special aptitudes, and this made him smile, which pleased 
Madame Souravieff. 

“ Come,” she exclaimed, “a little courage! You shall 
be a Russian member of the English Parliament — perhaps 
even a Russian member of the English Ministry — before 
I have done with you. Consider the importance of that to 
me, and it will relieve you from the hard trial of believing 
that I have nothing to gain by working for you.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

MADAME SOURAVIEFF IS CRITICIZED. 

As may be imagined, the advent of the Russian lady, wdth 
her staff of servants, her horses and her carriages, created 
no small stir in the vicinity of Abbotsport, and everybody 
wanted very much to know who she w'as and what in the 
world she had come there for. Thus it became imperative 
upon Mrs. Lowndes, in her character of local purveyor of 
news, to find some answ’-er to questions which w’ere being 
addressed to her from all quarters, at the same time to 
gratify her own pardonable curiosity. 

“ Robert,” said she, “ we must call upon this Countess 
Thingummy. I hope she is all right, though I confess that 
I have my doubts. But I shall be better able to judge 
when I see her.” 

“ Do you think she will like to be called upon ? ” asked 
the rector dubiously. 

“ I really don’t know% but that isn’t the question.” 

“ What is the question, my dear ? Whether she is all 
right? While that remains uncertain W'ouldn’t it be better 
for us to avoid risk of contamination by leaving her 
alone ? ” 

“ A parish priest,” returned Mrs. Lowmdes severely, 
‘‘ cannot be contaminated by visiting his parishioners. 
Indeed, it is his duty to visit them.” 

Mr. Lowndes yielded, as he very generally did w'hen 
there was anything like a difference between him and his 
wife. It saves wear and tear to give in at first when you 
know that you will certainly have to give in at last ; and 


MIS AD VEN7DDE, 


185 


SO, later in the day, the rector’s pony-chaise was seen 
cutting up the fresh gravel which had been strewn in front 
of the entrance of Upton Chetwode. 

It was seen, that is to say, by some of Madame Soura- 
vieff’s retainers, but not by that lady herself, who, being 
in the drawing-room, the windows of which looked towards 
another point of the compass, was just the least bit in the 
world taken aback when her visitors were announced. No 
surprise, however, was perceptible in her manner of 
receiving them, and although at first she could not imagine 
who they were or what they had come for, Mr. Lowndes’ 
clerical garb soon enlightened her. 

Of that honest gentleman’s esteem she made a speedy 
conquest. She was not particularly well informed as to 
Anglican doctrines, but in those of the Orthodox Church 
(she was much too clever to call it the Orthodox Church) 
to which she belonged, she was thoroughly posted, and 
she at once led the conversation into a theological channel 
which Mr. Lowndes found most interesting. 

“ Our points of agreement are so many and our differ- 
ences so comparatively unimportant,” said he, after a time, 
“ that I cannot help hoping that the dream of union and 
reconciliation may be realized some day. With Rome one 
knows that fraternization is not possible. Rome won’t 
advance an inch to meet us nor abate one jot of her 
pretensions. She demands unconditional surrender, and 
that, I think I may say, she will never obtain from the bulk 
of the English nation.” 

“ Rome,” agreed Madame Souravieff solemnly, “ is the 
enemy. But for the Romish clergy we should never have 
had one half of the trouble that we have had in Poland, 
and if Austria were not under the thumb of the Pope we 
should long ago have found some means of reconciling our 
interests with hers.” 

“ Oh, but if Austria is really under the thumb of the 
Pope, and if that is the result of her being so, I am afraid, 
as a loyal Briton, I must say that I am very glad of it,” 
observed the rector, laughing. We shouldn’t quite like 
to see you and Austria making an amicable division of 
Turkey.” 

This gave Madame Souravieff an opportunity of explain- 
ing Russia’s true mission in the East, and of pointing out 
how simple it would be to offer compensation to England^ 


i86 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


which would render the transfer of Constantinople to a 
civilized and civilizing power a positive advantage to her, 
instead of a menace. “ It is a mere question of common 
sense ahd good will,” she declared. 

Thus the rector quite forgot to put any personal ques- 
tions to his interlocutor, not even so much as inquiring 
what had tempted her down to Abbotsport, while his wife 
fretted and fumed at the necessity under which she found 
herself of making conversation with Mark Chetwode. For 
Mark had been sitting with Madame Souravieff, and had 
looked, as Mrs. Lowndes afterwards declared, most 
distinctly caught ” on being discovered, In any case, there 
was not much information to be got out of him. 

A sealed book ! ” the good lady exclaimed impatiently, 
when she was once more seated beside her husband in the 
pony chaise. “One would think he did it on purpose to 
be aggravating, and indeed I daresay he does. Nothing 
but ‘ yes ’ and ‘ no,’ and sometimes an absurd affectation of 
ignorance. He didn’t know what had induced the 
countess to take his house ; didn’t know how long she 
meant to stay ; didn’t know whether he himself was going 
away or not — didn’t know anything, in short ! Not that 
he shows much wisdom in being so reticent ; because that 
makes it pretty plain that he has something to conceal. 
You remember what I told you, Robert, when he first 
came down here. I said : ‘ Depend upon it, there is some 
entanglement.’ Well — there you are !” 

“ Is Madame Souravieff an entanglement ? ” asked the 
rector, with a tolerant smile, while he flicked the fat 
pony. • 

“That, I should think, must be obvious to everybody.” 

“ Oh, well, it wasn’t obvious to me. She isn’t very 
young, and it struck me that she was more interested in 
political and church matters than anything else. A remark- 
ably well-informed and agreeable woman I thought her.” 

“ My dear Robert, of course she’s agreeable. As for 
church matters, I should like to know wliat her church has 
to say about a wife’s duties. She has a husband — that much 
I did find out. And she usually lives apart from him. 
And Mr. Chefwode has taken Simpkins’ poky little lodgings 
rather than leave Abbotsport while she is here. If these 
facts don’t tell their own tale, I’m very much mistaken.” 

Well, my dear, if you know all about it we iieed not 


AflSAD VENTURE, 187 

grumble at Chetwode’s silence,” observed the rebtor good- 
humoredly. 

That was the sort of speech which, as Mrs. Lowndes 
often said, made Robert such a provoking companion at 
times. He never would understand that things ought to 
be cleared up. So long as .things are not cleared up, how 
can you tell where you are with people? Besides she 
wanted to be able to confirm, or remove, the very natural 
doubts felt in the neighborhood. 

At the Priory, as elsewhere, the stranger was made the 
subject of a little discussion ; but in that house there could 
be no present question of calling upon anybody, and as it 
w’as understood that Madame Souravieff had only taken 
Upton Chetwode for the summer, not much conjecture was 
spent upon her. 

“ One of Chetwode’s Russian friends, I suppose,” re- 
marked Mr. Bligh. “ I hope she is paying him a good 
rent ; for I suspect that he needs it, poor fellow ! ” 

“ It is more likely that he is letting her have the use of 
the house for nothing ; he always seems to me to be a man 
who cares very little about money,” said Miss Skipwith, 
whose penchant for Mark had survived the destruction of 
the hopes which she had once entertained on his behalf. 

But Mr. Bligh did not appear to be greatly interested in 
Mark or in Madame Souravieff, or indeed in anybody. 
Ever since the attack which had followed Morton’s death 
lie had been singularly apathetic, and his painful efforts to 
rouse himself when his daughter was in the room were 
apparent to everybody except to Cicely, who would not 
see them. 

She closed her eyes to this and other ominous indica- 
tions of her father’s state ; but she was less blind with 
regard to Archie, who had changed in more ways than one. 
It was not only that he had fits of unaccountable depression, 
but that he had become nervous and irritable, and, what 
was still worse, was developing a tendency to be exacting. 
Now this was just what Cicely had dreaded from the first. 
She was very fond of him and very unwilling to hurt his 
feelings, yet, for both their sakes, he ought to be made to 
understand that that kind of thing would never do, and that 
he must not look cross or injured if she declined to be 
always at his beck and call. 

One morning, when she was obliged to say that she was 


i88 


MISAD V£A'TURE. 


too busy to go out riding with him, he turned away with 
such an impatient movement and sighed so noisily that the 
right moment seemed to have come for reading him a lec- 
ture. This she accordingly did — with results that were 
not altogether satisfactory. He begged her pardon very 
humbly ; he admitted that he had shown temper and that 
he ought not to have done so ; but he did not quite lay 
aside his aggrieved air, and that was the one thing that she 
had wanted him to do. 

“ The truth is, Archie,” she said, “ that you are out of 
sorts ; that is what makes you unreasonable. It can’t be 
good for you to live as you are doing now, without any 
amusement and never seeing other men. I wish you would 
go away for a few weeks. Why shouldn’t you ? ” 

“If you wish me to go,” he answered dolefully, “of 
course there’s no reason why I shouldn’t and every reason 
why I should. How long must I be away ? ” 

“ That is silly,” returned Cicely, her own temper begin- 
ning to give way a little ; “ you know perfectly well that I 
only suggest your going away because you evidently need 
a change. Do just as you like about it, only please don’t 
behave like a spoilt boy.” 

She left the room without giving him time to make any 
rejoinder, for she had no intention of quarreling with him j 
but her conscience soon began to smite her, and when she 
next saw him and noticed his woe-begone countenance, she 
felt that she had spoken too sharply. It is not wise to 
whip a dog or a child or to snub a lover and afterwards to 
exhibit signs of regret for what you have done. The temp- 
tation is sometimes strong, but it should always be resisted 
by such as desire to retain their authority. Cicely who was 
accustomed to authority and tolerably skillful in the exercise 
of it, was not unaware of this elementary rule ; but after 
all, she had promised to be Archie’s wife; and perhaps it 
was hardly right to trample upon him. 

She therefore proceeded to undo the effect of her reproof 
(which had been really salutary) by saying, with a smile : — 
“ Haven’t you forgiven me yet, Archie ? I was very 
disagreeable this morning, I know, but I want to make 
friends again now, and I find I shall have time for a short 
gallop with you, if you don’t mind starting rather late.” 

So Archie went round to the stable-yard to give the 
necessary orders, and soon after five o’clock they set forth 


M/s A D VENTURE. 


189 


tor a certain broad stretch of down that they knew of, 
wnere the exhilaration of feeling good horses under them 
and the riisli of the soft westerly wind in their faces soon 
swept away all remains ‘of discontent or ill-humor. 

The very best way of making up a cpiarrel is doubtless 
to say no more about it, and the quarrels of lovers are 
generally supposed to terminate in a manner rather pleas- 
ing than otherwise. But of these two persons only one 
could be called a lover, and for that reason it might pos- 
sibly have been better if the little scene of the morning hnd 
led to a fuller explanation between them. As it was, 
Cicely still thought that the young man would* do well to 
leave the Priory for a time and amuse himself, while he still 
thought her proposition a heartless one. For the time 
being, however, they repressed their respective opinions, 
and, having thoroughly enjoyed their ride, fell back natural- 
ly to those easy terms of comradeship which had subsisted 
between them prior to their engagement, and the continu- 
ance of which was all that Cicely, for her part, desired. 

Now, on that same afternoon, as chance would have it, 
Madame Souravieff, who had brought saddle horses down 
from London, had persuaded Mark Chetwodeto make use 
of one of them ; and so it came to pass that this couple, 
while jogging homewards, espied another couple ahead of 
them. 

“ Nothing could be better ! ” Madame Souravieff ex- 
claimed, when she had been told who these equestrians 
were. “ We will canter on and overtake them, and you 
shall introduce me. I had been wondering how we could 
contrive to bring about an accidental meeting.” 

Mark would just as soon have deferred that meeting a 
little longer ; for the idea of bringing his old and his new 
love together jarred upon him somehow. But of course 
the thing had to be done sooner or later, and upon this 
occasion, as it turned out, the two ladies only exchanged a 
swift mutual glance of curiosity and a few unmeaning words. 
For four people cannot very comfortably ride abreast, 
and Madame Souravieff thought it best that she should 
undertake the young soldier and leave Mark to give evid- 
ence of his respectful sympathy with the heiress in this 
time of domestic trial. 

Mark did not do that, being aware that Cicely’s domestic 
sorrows were not of a kind which she cared to talk about. 


MIS A D VENTURE. 


190 

but he bore a previous hint of his mentor’s in mind and 
took some trouble to say clever things without apparent 
effort. Cicely, who had always liked him and found him 
interesting, did, as a matter of fact, draw some half-uncon- 
scious comparisons between him and her cousin, which 
could not be to the latter’s advantage. She was young ; 
she had been leading a very dull life of late ; and it was 
pleasant to be entertained by one who had seen so much 
of the world and could talk so amusingly of his varied 
experiences. 

“And now are you going to begin wandering about 
again ? ” she asked. “ Have you let your house for any 
length of time ? ” 

“ Only for three months, I believe,” he answered. “ In- 
deed I can hardly imagine that Madame Souravieff will 
care to stay so long.” 

“ Well, that will depend upon what brought her here, 
won’t it? I suppose she wouldn’t have taken Upton Chet- 
wode if she hadn’t been anxious for a quiet sort of existence.” 

“ To tell you the truth, I suspect that one of her prin- 
cipal reasons was that she wanted to give a little help to an 
inpecunious friend,” answered Mark ; for he had thought 
over what he should say upon this subject. “ She is a 
very old friend of mine,” he added. “ I used to see a great 
deal of her and Count Souravieff in St. Petersburg.” 

“And what has become of Count Souravieff? Is he 
dead ? ” 

“ No, but he has a chronic derangement of the liver, 
which makes him rather a disagreeable person to live in 
the house with. Besides, his wife holds strong political 
opinions which he doesn’t share. So, as a general rule, he 
goes his way and she goes hers. It is one of those cases 
in which no blame attaches to either side, and after a cer- 
tain time of life people who don’t suit one another are wiser 
to live apart if tliey can, I think.” 

Cicely made no comment upon this succinct account of 
the Russian lady’s domestic affairs ; but she glanced at 
the figure in front of her, which looked youthful enough in 
a riding-habit, and it occurred to her that the time of life 
referred to by Mark must be reached rather early. Her 
next question was : — 

“ Where do you think of going this summer ? You don’t 
intend to spend it above Simpkins’ shop, I presume.” 


MIS AD FENTUDE. 


191 

“ I scarcely know what I intend,” he answered candidly. 

I wanted to go as soon as I let the house ; but I couldn’t 
runaway just as Madame Souravieff came ; and now ” 

“ And now you don’t think you can run away as long as 
she remains ? ” suggested Cicely, after waiting in vain for 
him to finish his sentence. 

“ No ; if I linger here in spite of the smell of Mr. Simp- 
kins’ cheese, it won’t be for that reason, I think,” he 
answered, with a laugh which ended in a sigh. 

“ For what reason, then ? ” she inquired wonderingly. 

“ Some day perhaps I may tell you ; but it is much more 
likely that I never shall. In any case it is an absurd reason. 
Let us talk about something else.” ' 

It will be perceived that Mark knew how to carry out 
instructions. His manner of doing so, which may, perhaps, 
in narration, give an idea of somewhat rough workmanship, 
must nevertheless be pronounced to have been successful, 
inasmuch as he had managed to rouse Cicely’s curiosity 
and even to convey to her a very vague inkling of the 
truth. It was only a very vague inkling ; because, although 
she was aware that a great many men admired her ; she 
was by no means ready to believe that they loved her. It 
was, however, quite sufficient for Mark’s purpose ; and see- 
ing the impression that he had produced, he wisely forbore 
to deepen it. 

Madame Souravieff, in the meantime, had had no diffi- 
culty at all with Archie. She sometimes, though not often, 
found a difficulty in getting on with women, but never with 
men, and if this one was a little taciturn at first, she soon 
made him loquacious. On reaching the point where their 
])aths diverged, she begged him to come and see her some 
day, when he had nothing better to do, and took leave of 
him and Cicely with smiling friendliness, mingled with just 
so much of formality as is becoming in a lady who has not 
yet been called upon. 

But she became grave when she and Mark were once 
more alone together. She rode beside him in silence for 
some little distance and then turned upon him abruptly 
with the remark which he had been quite sure that she 
would make. 

‘‘ Savez-vous qu'elle est furicusement belle, votre he^'i- 
iiere I ” 

“ So I told you long ago,” he answered dryly. 


192 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


“No, you said she was pretty — that is a very different 
thing.” 

“You are not going to accuse me of having lost my 
heait to her, I hope,” said Mark, turning his impassive 
face towards his companion. 

She gave her shoulders a jerk and laughed. 

“ Perhaps not. In order to lose one’s heart one must 
first have a heart to lose. Still the fact remains that Miss 
Bligh is beautiful and — and that I am no longer what I 
was.” 

Mark had to reassure her and to drag forth certain long- 
disused protestations from the recesses of his memory. 
It was not a pleasant occupation and he did not enjoy it ; 
but when he had done, he had at least the satisfaction of 
knowing that he had lulled her awakening suspicions. 
Possibly Madame Souravieff was not unwilling that they 
should be lulled. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

SIR PETER SHAKES HIS HEAD. 

Archie told Cicely that he thought Madame Souravieff 
“ a very good sort.” She had been saying to him, it 
appeared, how fond she was of Englishmen and English 
ways ; she had a capital seat on a horse, she was sur- 
prisingly well informed as to the strength and efficiency of 
the British army, and had spoken about it in terms of un- 
qualified admiration, the sincerity of which it was impos- 
sible to doubt. In short, Archie was free to confess that 
he never would have expected to find such a combination 
of estimable qualities in a Muscovite. “ She asked me to 
call upon her some day,” he remarked. “ Do you think 
I might go ? ” 

“ Why not? ” asked Cicely, laughing. 

“ Well, I wasn’t quite sure whether it would be the 
proper thing. I suppose you wouldn’t come with me ? ” 

“ Not just yet. She will understand that I can’t pay 
visits at present ; or if she doesn’t understand, you can 
explain to her.” 

The little that Cicely had seen and heard of Mark’s 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


J93 


tenant had not inspired her with any very strong desire to 
cultivate that lady’s acquaintance ; but she was only too 
glad that Archie should have somebody besides herself to 
exchange ideas with, and she urged him to take advantage 
of the invitation which he had received. 

“ You will be doing an act of charity by helping Mr. 
Chetwode to entertain her,” she observed demurely. 

Circumstances, however, soon arose which necessitated 
the indefinite postponement of that charitable act, and 
caused Cicely to forget that any such person as Madame 
Souravieff existed. For the very next morning Mr. Bligh's 
valet came running downstairs, with an alarmed face, to 
say that he thought the doctor ought to be sent for. His 
master had had a quiet night and had awoke much as 
usual, but in the last few minutes there had been what he 
called a sudden change,” and he was afraid things were 
going to take a turn for the worse again. 

The change of which he spoke, and which could hardly 
be described as sudden, was simply that which heralds the 
approach of death ; and even Cicely could not deceive 
herself as to its meaning when she entered her father’s 
bedroom. He was lying back in his chair with his eyes 
closed, and was apparently in a* state of stupor. Every 
vestige of color had left his cheeks ; his breathing was 
labored and irregular ; his long, thin fingers twitched 
convulsively every now and then. It did not need the 
melancholy air and the solemn circumlocutions of the 
doctor, who came in all haste, to convince Cicely that the 
time had come to bid farewell to hope. Nevertheless she 
insisted upon despatching a telegram to Sir Peter Parsons. 

“ It is a great expense and will be quite useless,” the 
local practitioner told Archie ; “ the whole College of 
Physicians could do no good now.” 

‘•But she wishes it,” returned the young man; “and 
what signifies the expense? It is of no consequence to 
her.” 

“ That is true, no doubt,” assented the other, with 
rather a wistful sigh (for he could not help thinking what 
an immense number of people he would have to kill or 
cure before he could hope to realize such a sum as the 
great man would receive in return for a comfortable 
railway-journey and a shake of the head). “ If it is any 
comfort to Miss Bligh to hear the worst upon higher 


194 


MISADVENTURE. 


authority than mine, so be it, But I almost doubt whether 
Sir Peter will be here in time.” 

Sir Peter arrived in time to fulfill the forecast of his pro- 
vincial confrere by shaking his head, but more than that 
he could not do, except to promise that he would remain 
in the house until all was over — which, he added, would 
be a question of hours only. 

“ You may remember,” he said to Archie, ‘‘ that I warned 
you of what must be expected. I would have warned the 
poor girl also ; only it seemed best to spare her the 
wretchedness of waiting for weeks or months in daily 
dread of the blow falling.” 

Sir Peter had doubtless acted mercifully, but Cicely felt 
as most people feel at such times, and was, not disposed to 
be grateful to him for. his consideration. She ought to 
have been told, she thought. Why had she been kept in 
ignorance while everybody else had been prepared ? Why 
had she been allowed to be cheerful and behave as though 
the danger were over ? It had made her seem cruel to her 
father, who (as her aunt told her by way of comforting her) 
had been under no illusion as to his hopeless state. These 
thoughts, however, she kept to herself. There was no use 
now in reproaching people who had meant to be kind ; 
only she wished they would all go away and leave her with 
her father, who showed no sign of returning consciousness. 

But of course they did not go away. They stood about 
and whispered and crossed the room on tiptoe, in accord- 
ance with what would appear to be one of the dictates of 
human nature. It is difficult to see why one should not 
be allowed to die alone, since nobody thinks of grudging 
one the privilege of living alone ; but we may as well make 
up our minds that, unless we have the good fortune to 
meet with a violent death, the last thing that we shall see 
in this world will be a circle of faces of preternatural 
length, and must console ourselves with the reflection that 
they will resume their usual and more becoming outline 
very soon after we have left them. To Mr. Bligh it 
mattered not at all whether many or few spectators 
witnessed the losing battle which he w^as fighting, for only 
his body was engaged in that struggle, his mind having 
already retired from the field never to return. Before 
midnight the universal conqueror scored one more victory, 
and for the first time in the history of an ancient and 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


195 


honorable family the Bligh estates, with all the endow- 
ments and responsibilities attaching thereto, passed into 
the possession of a woman. 

When Mr. Bligh had ceased to breathe, others perhaps 
breathed more freely. They sincerely regretted one who 
all his life long had had many friends and no enemies ; 
still they had known that he was doomed, and they were 
not sorry that a painful scene was over, and they all 
agreed in praising the courage and composure with which 
Cicely had passed through it. 

With courage she might be credited, for that was a 
quality inherent in her blood ; but her composure gave 
way as* soon as she had reached her bedroom, where she 
threw herself face downwards upon a sofa and so lay, 
sobbing miserably, until Nature obtained the mastery over 
her and brought her an hour or two of sleep. Nature 
always has the last word, though she sometimes allows us 
to fancy that we can command her. Nature goes quietly 
on with her ceaseless work of destruction and renewal, 
brings us health and sickness and death, makes us sad 
and then merry again, whether we will or no. Mercifully, 
however, we are so constituted that in moments of excite- 
ment or emotion w^ cannot believe this. We very often 
speak of love as eternal, occasionally meaning what we 
say ; and when those whom we have loved most are taken 
from us, we almost always feel certain that our wounds 
cannot at any future time be wholly cured or cease to pain 
us. Cicely, at any rate, had somewhat better reasons 
than most of us have in times of bereavement for thinking 
that she could never again be as happy as she had been. 
A dispassionate outsider might have told her that it was 
extremely probable that she never would. Her father’s 
death must of necessity draw a sharp line across the course 
of her life, concluding the first portion of it, which had 
been exceptionally free from cares of any kind. From that 
day forth she would have to bear upon her shoulders the 
burden of duties which women seldom discharge satisfac- 
torily, and she was engaged to be married to a man of 
whom it might safely be predicted that he would give her 
assistance in matters of detail only. Mr. Lov/ndes had 
once told him that whoever married Cicely Bligh must 
resign himself to accept the part of prince-consort. It is 
a difficult part to play, demanding an even temper, much 
tact and not a little forbearance* 


196 


MISADVENTURE, 


But of course it was not the prospect of the future in 
this sense that overwhelmed Cicely with sorrow. What 
was so terrible to her was that her father should have left 
her without one word of farewell, and that her last words 
to him should have been careless words, expressing no 
anxiety about him, nor anytliing of the affection which, as 
it seemed to her, was the one strong sentiment of which 
she had been or ever would be capable. It may have 
been from some undefined fear lest Archie should imagine 
that he could offer her in his own proper person a substitute 
for what she had lost, or it may have been because his 
attempts to comfort her were not very adroit, that she 
avoided him during the days which followed, and gave 
him to understand that she preferred the companionship 
of her Aunt Susan, who was tearful and sympathetic, yet 
perplexed by behavior which struck her as unnatural. 

It was after Mr. Bligh’s coffin had been laid beside that 
of his son, and the family lawyer had come and gone, and 
the blinds at the Priory had been pulled up again, that 
Miss Skipwith imparted some of her misgivings to the 
rector of the parish. She said : — • 

“ ]\[y heart fails me about Cicely. She doesn’t care for 
that young man, and it is useless for Jier to pretend that 
'' she does.” 

“ My dear madam, what can have put such a notion as 
that into your head?” cried Mr. Lowndes, who did not 
think highly of Miss Skipwith’s intelligence. “ As far as I 
can judge, the young people are simply devoted to one 
another.” 

“ Oh, yes , but you are only a man and you can’t judge,” 
returned Miss Skipwith with unwonted sharpness. “You 
don’t live in the house either ; so you have not seen how 
she has shrunk from him and kept him at arm’s length 
ever since her great sorrow came upon her.” 

“ If that is all, I don’t think you need be much 
alarmed,” said the rector. “ Trouble affects a great 
many people like physical pain, and makes them dislike to 
be touched or approached. I can quite understand her 
feeling.” 

I am by no means sure that you do,” returned Miss 
Skipwith, shaking her head. “ She isn’t sensitive in the 
way that you suppose; it seems to be a relief to her to 
talk about her father and about the past and the future, 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


!97 


Only it is to me, not to him, that she speaks. Say what 
you will, that is not the way in which any girl would treat 
the man whom she loved." 

“ Well, but if she doesn’t love him why should she have 
accepted him ? " 

“ We know that these mistakes are not uncommon ; it is 
very fortunate when they are discovered in time to be 
repaired. My own feeling is that the young man ought to 
go away. The marriage cannot take place for many 
months to come, and ’’ 

“ Why can’t it.^* ’’ interrupted the rector. 

“ Because Cicely wouldn’t hear of such a thing ; nor 
would it be proper. Indeed I am not at all clear that it 
is proper for him to stay on in the house, under the cir- 
cumstances. What do you think ? ’’ 

“ I don’t see the harm of his being here, so long as 
Cicely has you to act as her chaperon,’’ answered the 
rector ; ‘‘ but I don’t set up to be an authority upon such 
points. I’ll ask Mrs. Lowndes if you like.’’ 

This kind offer Miss Skip with declined with more 
promptitude than appreciation. She did not want to be 
taught her duty by Mrs. Lowndes, though she would have 
been willing to accept advice from her parish priest, had 
it been of a nature to lend support to her own views. 
Apparently, however, he was not to be counted upon as an 
ally ; so in the course ‘ of a few days, she adopted what, 
after all, was the most straightforward plan and attacked 
Cicely personally. 

“ My dear child,’’ said she, when she had led up to the 
subject by various preliminary circlings and doublings, 
‘•you are only laying up unhappiness for yourself. You 
have a strong feeling of attachment for your cousin, which 
I don’t say he may not deserve, but you cannot deceive 
me into supposing that you care for him as a wife should 
care for her husband." 

“ What makes you say that. Aunt Susan ? ’’ asked 
Cicely, raising her heavy eyes, with a wondering and 
stgrtlcd look. 

“ It is obvious,’’ replied the old lady ; “ he himself must 
see it. All this time you have been giving yourself the 
greatest trouble to keep him at a distance ; and if you 
don’t know why you have been doing that, I can tell you. 
Believe me, it would be wiser and kinder — though it may 


198 


MISADVENTURE. 


not be pleasant — to confess to him at once that you do 
not love him.” 

This, as we know, was a confession that Cicely had 
already made ; but she did not feel inclined to repeat it to 
her aunt, by whom it was likely to be misunderstood. 
Nevertheless, she might have thought of some rather more 
judicious rejoinder than : — 

“You don’t lose any time in asking me to do what 
would have distressed papa more than anything else. It 
was his one great wish that I should marry Archie, 
and you may be sure that he would never have wished me 
to do that if he hadn’t been convinced that I should he 
happy as Archie’s wife.” 

“ Exactly so,” agreed Miss Skipwith, seizing the w'eapon 
offered to her ; “ that is precisely my feeling about it. If 
your poor father had seen what I have seen he would have 
been the first to say what I have just said.” 

“ You think you see things because you want to see 
them, Aunt Susan,” returned Cicely. “ If I have seemed 
unkind to Archie, I am very sorry for it ; but I hope he 
has made some allowance for me. Such as I am, I be- 
lieve he is not dissatisfied with me ; and if he ever is, it 
will be for him to complain, not for other people. Please 
say no more about it.” 

Miss Skipwith was easily cowed, and when her niece 
looked at her after a certain fashion she invariably suc- 
cumbed. All she ventured to ask was : — 

“ And is he to remain in this house until your wedding- 
day ? It is your house now, you must remember, and he 
is here as your guest.” 

“ He is a very welcome one,” answered Cicely. 
“ Whether he stays or goes must be as he pleases ; he 
certainly will not be turned out by me.” 

This closed a discussion which had not helped Miss 
Skipwith’s case, but from which that of Archie derived 
indirect benefit. For Cicely now saw that she had put his 
patience and his submissiveness to a somewhat too severe 
test, and from that day she began once more to exert h(*r- 
self to please him. She began also to exert herself in 
other ways, and though her heart was still heavy, her 
speech resumed something of its customary cheerfulness 
and decision. 


MISADVENTURE, 


199 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

MADAME SOURAVIEFF SETS TO WORK. 

Abbotsport, which, through all the varieties of wild 
weather which commonly set in about the middle of Sep- 
tember and rage with little intermission until the middle of 
May, looks not less bleak and storm-beaten than other fish- 
ing villages on the south coasts is transformed for three or 
four months out of every year into as lovely, peaceful and 
slumberous a seaside retreat as any overworked Londoner 
could dream of. Then the sun shines down with strength 
upon the slate roofs, and makes the chalk cliffs so daz- 
zlingly white that no one can look at them without blink- 
ing ; then the sea is at rest, and bare-legged children can 
])addle about among the rocks at low water to their hearts’ 
content, and the trees on either side of the road which 
leads to the Priory and to Upton Chetwode give a grate- 
ful shade, and every \vooded dell and green bank is bright 
with wild flo\vers. At this season Abbotsport, always dis- 
posed to be contemplative, indulges largely in those habits 
of placid meditation which soften life and tend to prolong 
it; at this season, too, it does the greater part of its court- 
ing ; and if there were any accommodation to be found in 
the place (but there is not, for the Seven Stars is apt to be 
a little noisy after sunset and Mr. Simpkins’ lodgings are 
seldom free from clerical occupation), an idle or a weary 
man might do worse than betake himself thither, and might 
derive as much amusement as was necessary for his pur- 
pose from watching the humors of a primitive community. 

But there are many men who know nothing of the 
pleasure of inaction ; men (Anglo-Saxon, for the most part, 
by race) who arc blessed with such redundant health and 
vigor that unJess they are tiring their bodies in some way 
their minds grow restless and uneasy ; and these usually 
prefer winter to summer, because in winter they can be 
hunting or shooting all day long, wliereas in summer there 
is not much to be done except to play cricket, and cricket 


200 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


is not obtainable everywhere. It was not obtainable, save 
in a very rudimentary form, at Abbotsport ; and even if it 
had been, it would hardly have been considered decorous 
for Archie Bligh to take any part in it so soon after his 
uncle’s death. Very likely the morbid irritation from 
which he could not free himself may have been due in 
some degree to want of exercise, and undoubtedly Cicely 
was right in thinking that change of air and scene would 
have done him good. 

This, however, she refrained from saying — now that she 
was his hostess it was less easy to say such things — and 
he himself had an unreasoning dread of leaving the Priory. 
He was still haunted by the fear that something would 
happen to prevent his marriage. He often thought that 
old Coppard harbored distrustful surmises about him ; he 
felt as if he would not be safe if his back was turned. 
Hence it came to pass that when Cicely once more ad- 
mitted him to frequent and intimate intercourse she was 
astonished and not best pleased at his fits of petulance, 
while he tortured himself with doubts as to whether she 
was not becoming tired of him. 

One day Mr. Lowndes said to him : — 

‘‘ In my opinion, Archie, the sooner you are married 
the better. You needn’t have a gay wedding ; let it be as 
quiet and private as Cicely pleases ; but get her to fix a 
date. You will both be much happier when you are man 
and wife.” 

He acted upon this not very judicious advice, thereby 
earning an indignant rebuke for himself. Cicely would 
not hear of anything in the shape of a festivity, taking place 
for another year at least, and said he must be well aware 
that her marriage could not and would not be allowed to 
be solemnized without festivities. 

“ I don’t think you understand how you hurt me when 
you make such suggestions,” she said. 

“ I don’t want to make any suggestions that are disa- 
greeable to you,” answered Archie. “ Of course it is- for 
you to decide how much longer our engagement shall 
last.” 

But he did not offer the apology which he certainly 
would have offered a few weeks earlier, and his tone was 
almost sulky. Well was jt for him that he had to deal with 
a character which, being stronger than his own, had much 


misadventure. 


201 


of the magnanimity which belongs to conscious strength. 
Cicely was willing to pardon him a great deal and to over- 
look little manifestations of temper ; nevertheless, he inevit- 
ably fell somewhat in her esteem — which Miss Skipwith and 
Madame Souravieff would have considered a hopeful sign. 

The latter lady, although she had the etiquette of every 
European nation at her fingers’ ends and never infringed 
established rules through ignorance, sometimes thought 
fit to do so intentionally, and her audacity was generally 
smiled upon by Fortune, which is said to favor the auda- 
cious. • To drive up to the Priory and insist upon admit- 
tance, notwithstanding the shocked surprise of the butler 
and his assurance that Miss Bligh received no visitors, 
was, it must be acknowledged, a tolerably bold thing to 
do ; but she had carried through more difficult enterprises 
than that in her time and had no fear of the consequences. 

“ You must not blame your servants,” she said, when 
she had been shown into the little room where Cicely was 
sitting alone ; “ they told me that you would not see me, 
so I forced my way into the house in spite of them. It 
was bad taste, if you will, but when one is brought face to 
face with one of the dreadful realities of life, one forgets 
all petty conventionalities — at least I do.” She was hold- 
ing the girl by both hands and looking kindly and com- 
passionately into her eyes. “ I have been thinking so 
much of you since I heard of your sad misfortune,” she 
went on, “ and I have longed to come and tell you how 
well I know what you must be feeling. At last I said to 
myself, ‘ Well, at the worst, she can biit turn me out,’ and 
I came. Poor child ! I have been through it all — my 
case was just like yours. My mother died when I was a 
baby, and my father was everything to me. Then he was 
taken from me — and I married Monsieur Souravieff.” 

There were genuine tears upon Madame SouravieflPs 
eyelashes as she told this concise and pathetic tale. It 
was really almost true, and she had such a faculty for 
throwing herself into any part which she might be playing 
that the memory of her girlhood quite affected her for the 
moment. Cicely also was touched, and did not resist the 
further advances of this sympathetic fellow-sufferer, who 
sat down on a sofa beside her, still holding her hands, while 
she talked in a low, pleasantly-modulated voice about the 
tie which sometimes exists between a father and’ daughter, 


« 2ot 


MIS AD venture. 


and which, as she said, sometimes, but far more rarely, 
also unites a husband and wife. Then she went on to 
dwell upon the many things that she had heard in praise of 
Mr. Bligh — his kindness of heart, his charity, his cheerful 
endurance of suffering; and she was careful not to breathe 
a word about consolation. All this was very skillful of 
her ; for she made Cicely cry and reached the girl’s heart, 
and was permitted to embrace her tenderly. The next 
step was somewhat less easy, for Cicely was by nature 
very loyal and not very communicative, but at length 
Madame Souravieff obtained an admission that Archie did 
not quite realize the nature or extent of his cousin’s grief, 
and of this she took quick advantage. 

“ Of course he doesn’t ! ” she cried. “ How should he, 
poor young man ? He cannot think of anything or any- 
body but you ; and that is no fault of his. Men are 
always like that when they are in love. I wonder,]’ she 
continued meditatively, “whether it would be at all a 
relief to you if Mr. Chetwode and I were to take him off 
your hands sometimes and try to divert him.” 

Cicely jumped at this rather hazardous proposition with 
suspicious alacrity. 

“ It would be most kind of you if you would,” she 
answered. “ He doesn’t complain, but I can see that he 
finds this monotonous existence depressing, and of course 
it must be bad for him ! ” 

“That,” thought Madame Souravieff to herself, “is con- 
clusive ; she not only does not care for her soldier, but she 
is heartily sick of him. I expected as much.” Aloud she 
said: “Well, then, I will do what I can. I am living 
quite alone, as you know, and I should like to ask you to 
come and see me sometimes ; but I won’t do that, because 
I am sure that you would rather be left to yourself. Per- 
haps your cousin would dine with me one evening, though, 
and I would get Mr. Chetwode to meet him.” 

And as at this moment Archie himself entered the room, 
she struck while the iron was hot. She offered no explan- 
ation of her presence, which evidently surprised him, but, 
after having shaken him by the liand, said cheerfully : 

“ I was just asking Miss Bligh whether she thought you 
could be persuaded to look in upon me at dinner-time any 
day this week. I have no inducements to hold out ; but if 
you would come and smoke a cigar with Mr. Chetwode 


MISADVEA^I'URE. 


203 


you would do an act of charity to both him and to me. 
Mr. Chetwode dines with me every now and then, because 
he thinks it his duty to do so ; but our stock of conversa- 
tional subjects has run very low, and we are sadly in need 
of a third person to provide us with fresh ones.” 

“ Oh — thank you,” answered Archie, glancing doubtfully 
at Cicely ; but as he received a smile and a slight gesture 
of encouragement in return, he went on to say that he 
would like very much to accept Madame Souravieffs 
invitation. 

“Then let us make it Thursday,” returned that lady 
briskly, and immediately afterwards rose to take her leave, 
kissing Cicely once more on both cheeks before she retired. 

When the door had closed behind her Archie looked 
notes of interrogation of the largest size. 

“ She came to tell me that she was sorry for me,” Cicely 
said explanatorily. “ She was really very kind. Ttw^asn’t 
the sort of thing that an Englishwoman would have done, 
but it was done so simply and nicely that one couldn’t feel 
anything except grateful to her.” 

Archie looked a little puzzled ; for it appeared to him 
that Madame Souravieff had taken a liberty which he could 
have sworn that Cicely would resent. 

“ And about my dining there,” he asked — “ is that all 
right ? ” 

“ Perfectly right. I don’t want you to think that you 
must shut yourself up because I do ; on the contrary, I 
wish you to see people. I shouldn’t like you to go to a 
dinner-party, and I know you wouldn’t go ; but smoking a 
cigar with Mr. Chetwode is quite another thing. I wonder 
whether Madame Souravieff herself smokes, as they say 
that so many Russian ladies do. I hope she doesn’t.” 

As a matter of fact, Madame Souravieff did sometimes 
smoke cigarettes ; but she denied herself that indulgence 
on the following Thursday evening, because, being pretty 
well versed in the principles of diplomacy, she was always 
very careful to avoid trampling upon the prejudices of any- 
one with whom she might wish to ingratiate herself. Now 
she had reasons of her own for wishing to ingratiate her- 
self with Archie, and it was easy to perceive that he 
belonged to that class of honest Britons who look with 
dislike and distrust upon all foreign habits. 

At any rate, he neither disliked nor distrusted Madame 


204 


MISADVENTURE. 


Soiiravieff, who treated him to an admirable dinner and a 
most amusing description of her season in London. Mark 
took little or no part in the conversation, to which indeed 
he scarcely listened, until Miss Bligh’s name was intro- 
duced, w’hen he pricked up his ears. Madame Souravieff 
was speaking with affectionate warmth of Cicely’s charms 
of person and manner, and Archie was looking pleased 
and a trifle embarrassed. After a time, the latter, who 
differed from his cousin in that he was not of a reticent 
temperament, and who was therefore far more manageable 
than she, was led on to mention his perplexities and the 
uncertainty which he felt as to what he ought to do. 

“ Well, it is a little awkward,’' said he, in answer to some 
observation of Madame Sduravieff s ; “ old Miss Skipwith 
was hinting as much to me this morning, and I couldn’t 
contradict her. Mr. Lowndes thinks, and so do I, that 
there is no reason why we should not be married quietly 
in the autumn ; but Cicely has an idea that it would be 
disrespectful to her father’s memory to have the wedding 
within a year of his death ; so there it is. I’m sure I don’t 
know whether it would be the right thing for me to stay 
a whole year at the Priory as her guest or not.” 

“ I think, if I were you, I should leave that question 
open for the present,” answered Madame Souravieff, after 
apparently giving it due consideration. “ I should say 
nothing about it for a few months. When she has recov- 
ered from the first shock of her loss she will very likely 
look at things in a different way.” 

The subject was not pursued further at that time, because 
Madame Souravieff now professed a great anxiety to hear 
the 'game of polo described ; but later in the evening 
Archie reverted to it. 

“ I’m glad you think I may stay on where I am,” he 
observed musingly. “ After all, I have never had any 
home but the Priory ; it isn’t as if my being engaged to 
Cicely were ^the only reason for my living there. And 

then I think I may be of use to her in managing things 

if she’ll let me.” 

“ I shoiild remain on that account, if on no other,” 
Madame Souravieff replied. “ It stands to reason that the 
management of the property must be given over to you 
eventually, and if I were Miss Bligh I should ‘ be only too 
thankful to let you take it at once.” 

Archie smiled. 


M/SAD VENTURE. 


205 


“It isn’t Cicely’s way, to resign her functions to - an 
adjutant,” he remarked. 

“ Oh, she is young ; she has still many things to learn. 
Amongst others, that no husband who is worth anything 
will consent to act as a mere adjutant. But I must not 
venture to criticize her or I shall make you angry.” 

It is quite i^ossible that such a criticism might have 
angered Archie a short time before ; but it had not that 
effect upon him now. On the contrary, he thought it fair 
enough ; although he had made up his mind that, if his 
future wife should decide to exercise undivided authority, 
no protest should be entered by him. He was much 
pleased with the Russian lady, whose, frank friendliness 
and quick comprehension of his feelings supplied what he 
had felt to be a want in his life. Chetwode, too, was not 
such a bad fellow in his way. During the half-hour which 
he had spent with Chetwode in the dining-room after dinner 
he had found him agreeable and full of information on all 
sorts of subjects, which had been rather hinted at than 
displayed. An awfully clever fellow — there was no doubt 
of that — yet not bumptious, as clever fellows so often are. 

Sad to say, this favorable judgment was not reciprocated 
by its subject. After accompanying Madame Souravieffs 
guest to the door and taking a cordial leave of him, Mark 
returned to the drawing-room with the ejaculation of : — 

“ What a booby ! ” 

“ So much the better for you,” observed Madame Soura- 
vieff composedly. 

“ Not necessarily ; a booby generally makes a good 
husband. If I may be permitted to ask — why did you not 
recommend him to leave the neighborhood when he gave 
you such a fine opening ? ” 

“ You may be permitted to ask anything, but you ought 
to be ashamed of requiring an answer to such a question. 
Do you wish the girl to be cured of her weariness of him'? 
Do you wish the collision which must ocCiir when the 
question of who shall be master arises to be postponed 
until it is no longer a matter of interest to you ? I will 
not call you a booby, my dear Mark, but I will take the 
liberty of saying that you would make a terrible mess of 
this affair if I were not at your elbow.” 

“ Very probably I should ; and even now — the truth is 
— pardon me — that it is a somewhat dirty affair.” 

He was thinking rather of his share in it than of hers 


2o6 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


when he said so ; for he could not forget that he proposed 
to deceive one person more than she did ; but she natur- 
ally accepted the stricture as aimed at herself alone, and 
her temper, which was one of the Slavonic variety, blazed, 
up suddenly. 

“ You go too far ! ” she exclaimed. “ You insult me 1 
Another such speech and I renounce you. I wash my 
hands of you — yes, for ever ! ” 

“ It is what I have often advised you to do,” observed 
Mark composedly. 

She broke into a flood of passionate, incoherent re- 
proaches, referring to many bygone causes of quarrel, and 
making use of terms which were not always choice. It 
was not often that she lost her head in that way ; but such 
fits overcame her from time to time, and were (as Count 
Souravieff was wont to assure her) singularly unbecoming 
to her. There are people who look imposing when they 
are enraged ; but she was not one of them, nor could she 
scold without raising her voice to a scream. 

Mark waited patiently until the storm had spent itself. 
It does an angry woman no good to interrupt her while 
her breath holds out. But as soon as he could obtain a 
hearing he said : — 

“ I have no doubt that all your accusations are fully 
justified, Olga ; I will admit, if you like, that I have every 
defect in the world except inconstancy. And I suppose I 
ought not to make an exception of that ; because with 
your present views you would probably consider it a 
merit.” 

This was his trump card. He i)layed it. perhaps, a little 
too often, but it never failed to score. The result of its 
production on the present occasion was that he was for- 
given and begged to forgive, and that he left the house 
with an inclination to laugh, tempered by a strong sense 
of humiliation. 

Madame Souravieffs emotions were of a less complex 
nature. There was a good deal more of triumph than 
of shame in the face which she contemplated intently in a 
hand-mirror that she caught up from the table after Mark 
had left her. 

“ I made a fool of myself,” she said to her reflection ; 
“ but I don’t care ! He loves me still ! Ah, Miss Bligh, 
you are younger than I am and prettier than I ever was ; 
but I am not afraid of you ! 


MIS AD KtM'J DRE, 


2JQ*J 


CHAPTER XXVII. 
bobby’s glory*. 

A PROUD and happy man was Sir George Dare when he un- 
folded his Times one morning and found therein an account 
of the spirited capture of an armed slave-dhow off the Zan- 
zibar coast by a boat’s crew belonging to H.M.S. Cygnet, 
under the command of Lieutenant Dare. The gallantry 
and determination displayed by that young officer were 
highly commended ; for the dhow, it appeared, had offered 
a stubborn resistance and her captors had been largely 
out-numbered. It was added that this was not the first 
occasion on which Lieutenant Dare had distinguished him- 
self in a similar manner. Moreover, it chanced by great 
good luck that the Times — being perhaps a little short of 
subjects — devoted a leading article that day to the ques- 
tion of the suppression of the slave trade, in the course of 
which Bobby’s name was mentioned more than once with 
a kindly appreciation of his deserts. 

“ Hah ! ” ejaculated Sir George, beaming round the 
breakfast table ; ‘‘ that’s the way to do it I 1 don’t know 
whether you’ve noticed, any of you, that there have been 
a good many more attacks upon dhows than captures of 
late. What they want out there is a fellow who knows how 
to hang on — and, by George, they’ve got him ! There 
always was a bit of the bulldog about that boy.” 

This triumphant crow elicited the response which was 
expected from the ladies of the family, led by the strong- 
minded Miss Jane ; after which Lady Dare’s voice was 
heard inquiring tremulously whether Bobby had emerged 
from the fray unhurt. 

Oh, a few scratches,” answered her husband carelessly. 

‘ We have to deplore the death of two blue jackets, and 
Lieutenant Dare himself received slight wounds on the arm 
and leg. These, however, were not sufficiently serious to 
prevent him from leading on his men.’ I should think not ! 
He’d have led ’em on without an arm or a leg, if it had 
come to that ! ” 


2o8 


MIS An VENTURE. 


This neroic view of the matter did not satisfy Lady Dare, 
who was only comforted on receiving the further assurance 
that her son was making rapid progress towards recovery. 

‘‘ 1 can’t see why we should go about the world interfer- 
ing with people,” she sighed. “ Of course one is sorry for 
the unfortunate slaves ; still it is the custom of the country, 
and we can’t put down objectionable customs everywhere.” 

“ We must do it where we can, my dear,” rejoined Sir 
George; “otherwise our poor chaps would never get a 
chance of promotion. Talking of objectionable customs, 
didn’t you say you wanted me to pay some visits with you 
this afternoon ? ” 

It was not often that Sir George could be persuaded to 
pay his* respects to his neighbors in person, but now he was 
in so excellent a humor that he could refuse nobody any- 
thing ; so in the course of the afternoon he was driven to 
various houses and was quite sorry to find none of their 
inmates at home, because he would have liked just to ask 
them casually whether they had seen the Times of that 
day. The last name upon Lady Dare’s list was that of 
Madame Souravieff, upon whom she had decided to call 
after several weeks of hesitation ; but on hearing whither 
she was bound, Sir George expressed his intention of 
deserting her. 

“ Uj)ton Chetwode, eh? Oh, well, you won’t want me 
there — no man in the house, you know. I’ll tell you what ; 
I’ll just take a short cut across the fields and go and say 
how-do-you-do to poor little Cicely Bligh. You can come 
and pick me up when you’ve had enough of the Russian 
countess.” 

For goodness’ sake, George, don’t leave me to face that 
woman alone ! ” protested Lady Dare. “ From what Mrs. 
Lowndes tells me, I don’t feel sure about her, and it is so 
much easier to avoid being drawn into intimacy when you 
are two against one.” 

But Sir George was already out of the carriage and 
trotting off with great alacrity ; so she was obliged to tell 
the coachman to drive on. 

This was not the first time Sir George had been at the 
Priory since his old friend’s death, and he flattered himself, 
not altogether without reason, that he had been instru- 
mental in cheering Cicely up. Sir George had a high, 
cackling laugh which was irresistibly infectious ; so that 


MIS A D VENTURE, 


209 


it was not possible for Cicely or anybody else to talk to him 
long without showing at least outward signs of merriment. 
Perhaps, however, it was not solely a benevolent wish to 
divert the poor girl’s mind from melancholy brooding that 
prompted his present visit. Sympathy is required and 
desired in times of joy as well as in times of sorrow, and 
turn about is fair play. Moreover (but this Sir George 
probably did not sa> to himself), there is a certain satisfac- 
tion in being able to show unappreciative persons what 
they have lost through their lack of appreciation. 

When he was still some distance from the house he over- 
took Cicely herself,, who was walking slowly homewards 
from the village ; and this he was glad of, because he did 
not want to be bothered with Miss Skip with. 

“ How do you do, my dear ? ” said he, hurrying up to 
join her. “ All well at home? That’s right. No news, I 
suppose ? ” 

“ None that I know of,” answered Cicely; “but I am 
not much in the way of hearing news. If there is any, you 
are more likely to have heard of it than I.” 

“No, I can’t say that I have heard anything particular. 
Nothing local, at least. We’re off to Wiesbaden soon ; 
but there’s nothing new about. The doctor tells me it will 
have to be an annual business now if I want to get through 
the winter without a fit of gout. Didn’t happen to look at 
the Times this morning, did you? ” 

“ I’m afraid I only looked at the first column of the 
advertisement sheet ; I have had such a number of things 
to do all day. Did it contain any startling intelligence ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no ; nothing startling. It was interesting to 
me because it gave an account of a capture of a slave-dhow 
in which my boy Bob was concerned. A mere brush, of 
course ; though there seems to have been some sharpish 
fighting while it lasted.” 

“ Bobby would enjoy that,” observed Cicely, smiling. 
“I hope he distinguished himself.” 

“ Well, yes; the Times says so. Good, honest paper, 
the Times, in that way, I always think. Ready to give a 
man credit when he does his duty, I mean. Bob was in 
command, you understand; so that he gets all the glory, 
such as it is. There’s a leading article about it,” concluded* 
Sir George, modestly lowering his eyes, while the corners 
of his mouth turned up towards his ears, in spite of all his 
efforts to restrain them. 


210 


MISADVENTURE, 


“ Oh, I am so glad ! ” exclaimed Cicely, her eyes spark' 
ling. “ I always knew that Bobby would do something 
splendid if only he could get the opportunity. I must get 
the paper and read about it at once.” And she quickened 
her pace involuntarily. 

“ I’m not sure,” said Sir George, fumbling in his coab 
tail pockets — “ possibly I may — ah, yes, I thought so. I 
happen to have a copy with me. I’ve been paying a round 
of visits with Lady Dare, and I thought perhaps Lowndes 
or somebody might like to see what they say. Here it is, 
if you care to look at it.” 

Cicely perused the sheet handed to her, and while she 
did so there came a quick flush into her cheeks which Sir 
George, who was stepping along beside her, with his hands 
behind his back and a fine affectation of indifference, saw 
very well out of the corner of his eye. There could be no 
doubt that Bobby had behaved very pluckily ; and although 
the leading article was not precisely about him, it gave his 
name several times in capital letters for all the world to 
see, while full justice was*^ incidentally rendered to his 
bravery. 

“ Oh ! — and he has been wounded too, poor fellow ! ” 
exclaimed Cicely, drawing in her breath. 

“ Ah, I thought you would notice that little detail ; his 
mother was almost crying about it. Bless your soul ! men 
don’t mind wounds — at all events men like Bob don’t. 
Why I remember that fellow, when he wasn’t more than 
twelve years old, getting bitten clean through the hand by 
a brute of a retriever ; and if you’ll believe me the young 
beggar only laughed. Burst out laughing — he did upon my 
word ! Ho, ho, ho ! ” And off went the old gentleman 
into one of his own uncontrollable outbursts of mirth, 
which usually came upon him without much ostensible 
cause. 

Now when Sir George was overtaken in this way you had 
only to look him in the face in order to send him into 
positive convulsions ; and as, of course, he. returned the 
look, his neighbor could hardly fail to be seized by the 
contagion. , Thus it not unfrequently happened that even 
upon the Bench of Magistrates two Justices of the Peace 
were seen rolling about helplessly and holding their sides, 
to the bewilderment of lookers-on who could not imagine 
what the joke was. 


MISADVEh^TURE. 


2ir 

When Sir George and Cicely had laughed until they 
could laugh no longer, and were feebly wiping their eyes, 
the former said : — 

“ Ah, well ! I shall tell Bob that youVe read about his 
little battle. He’ll be glad to hear that.” 

But this reminded Sir George that another piece of intel- 
ligence, which Bobby certainly would not be glad to receive, 
had already been despatched to the coast of Africa, and the 
recollection had a sobering effect upon him. By a natural 
association of ideas, he asked presently : — 

“ Where’s Archie ? ” 

' “ I think he said he was going to walk over to Upton 
Chetwode,” Cicely replied. 

“Oh, indeed! He’s a good deal at Upton Chetwode 
nowadays, isn’t he ? At least so I hear.” 

“ Yes ; I am glad to say that he has made great friends 
with Madame Souravieff and Mr. Chetwode. I feel very 
grateful to them both ; for he w'as looking wretchedly down 
in the mouth^ — and no wonder — before they took him up.” 

Sir George snorted. He wa% not fond of gossip ; but he 
could not help hearing it, and of late it had been whisper- 
ed pretty loudly that the Russian siren, whose name had 
naturally been connected at first with Mark Chetwode, 
was growing weary of that alleged admirer, and was not 
unwilling to substitute Archie Bligh for him. Under the 
circumstances, would it not be the part of a friend (and a 
very disinterested friend, too, for that matter) to breathe a 
word of warning? So he said : — 

“Well, I really don’t see what reason he has to look 
down in the mouth ; it’s early days for him to find that 
your company isn’t good enough for him, my dear. Be- 
tween you and me, I wouldn’t let him have too long a 
tether. No offence, you know ; but young men are apt to 
be mercurial, and they tell me that this Countess Soura- 
vieff is a remarkably fascinating lady.” 

Cicely did not look pleased. 

“ Madame Souravieff has been very kind to me,” she 
answered. “ I quite agree that she is fascinating. But if 
I didn’t feel sure of Archie I certainly shouldn’t attempt 
to tighten my hold upon him.” 

“ Well, well ! I daresay you’re right,” said Sir George 
a little confusedly. “ By the time that one gets to my age 
one has seen such a lot of trouble brought about by women 


212 


MISADVENTURE. 


that one is too ready to look out for it, perhaps. Isn^t 
that my old barouch coming up the drive ? Lady Dare 
said she would come for me. She has just been paying a 
first call upon your friend the Russian, so she’ll be able to 
tell us all about the lady’s fascinations.” 

These, however, had not perhaps been exercised upon 
Lady Dare, who, when interrogated, would only say that 
Madame Souravieff dressed beautifully. 

‘‘ I don’t think I much admire those magnificent tea- 
gowns myself,” she added. “ In a large house, full of 
people, they may be all very well, but when one is living 
quite alone and doesn’t expect to receive any visitors, ex- 
cept a single young man ” 

“ Yes ? What then ? ” inquired Cicely blandly ; for she 
had caught Sir George in the act of making a face at his 
wife, and it seemed desirable to show that she had no 
objection in the world to Archie’s intimacy with her 
neighbor. 

“ Oh, nothing,” answered Lady Dare hastily. I don’t 
think I should do it myself, ghat’s all. But no doubt their 
customs are different in St. Petersburg. Indeed, now I come 
to think of it, I believe I have heard that men pay afternoon 
calls in evening dress there — which shows that we can’t 
judge Russians by our standards. Now, George, we really 
ought to be going ; I had no idea it was so late.” 

Lady Dare spoke with more freedom as soon as she ivas 
out of Cicely’s hearing. 

“ I am very glad that we are going away so soon,” said 
she ; “I certainly shouldn’t like the girls to see much of 
that woman. It may be all right, but she and young 
Bligh went on together in a way which I must say sur- 
prised me. One would have supposed that they had been 
acquainted all their lives.” 

“ I’m sure I’ve no objection, since Miss Cicely appears 
to have none,” observed Sir George. ‘‘ If that young 
fellow prefers flirting with a married woman to staying at 
home with the girl to whom he’s engaged — why, we know 
somebody else who has better taste. She was very much 
interested in hearing about Bob’s success. Got quite 
excited over* it, in fact.” 

Lady Dare said it was very wrong to talk in that light 
way about a serious matter. For her part, she would be 
greatly distressed if anything should occur to bring about 
a breach between the cousins. 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


213 


“ And I do hope, George, that you will not be so im- 
prudent as to hint at the possibility of such a thing. You 
know how censorious people are, and how certain they 
would be to accuse us of wishing to make a fine match for 
Bobby.” 

Nevertheless, a smile hovered about her lips during the 
remainder of the drive, and if she amused herself by build- 
ing certain castles in the air, there was no great harm in 
that. What would life be worth to any of us if we were 
debarred from sometimes dreaming of delightful im- 
probabilities ? 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

CLUMSINESS AND SKILL. 

In some far-away future time, when those who believe in 
the perfectibility of the human race shall be able to point 
to some rather more convincing grounds for the faith that 
is in them than they can show as yet, it is possible that 
men and women may cease to judge by appearances, which, 
as we all know, are quite as often misleading as not. With 
our present imperfect comprehension of one another, how- 
ever, there does not seem to be, very much else to judge 
by ; and if a young man will persist in presenting himself 
five or six times a week at the house of a lady who is 
living all by herself, he must not complain of the usual 
deductions being drawn from his behavior. 

The usual deductions were drawn in Archie Bligh’s case, 
and a very general shaking of heads ensued. Among the 
heads which were shaken most frequently and most 
vehemently was that of Mrs. Lowndes, who said to her 
husband : — 

“ I call it nothing short of a scandal, Robert. Now I 
know what you are going to say j you are going to accuse 
me of want of charity, as you always do. Though what 
true charity there can be in deliberately shutting one’s 
eyes to wrong-doing I will leave you to explain in your 
next sermon — if you can.” 

“ I could very easily explain, Amelia, that it is unchari- 
table to keep one’s eyes steadily fixed upon those who are 


214 


M/s A D VENTURE. 


supposed to be doing wrongs but it wouldn’t be worth 
while to preach a sermon upon that theme, because, as 
you have so often told me, my sermons fail to awaken your 
conscience. In this instance I suspect that the usual clear- 
ness of your vision is obscured byj)rejudice against Madame 
Souravieff, who doesn’t seem to care much about talking to 
you.” 

“ How strange it is, Robert, that, anxious though you 
are to find fault with me, you invariably pitch upon faults 
of which nobody else would ever dream of accusing me ! 
Whatever I may be, I am not easily prejudiced, and I can 
assure you that I never wished or expected Madame Sou- 
ravieff to enjoy talking to me. She evidently does not 
enjoy talking to anyone of her own sex. A man she will 
always think it worth her while to make a fool of— even 
though he may be quite an old man and she may be 
obliged to affect a knowledge of theology before she can 
do it.” 

“ Meaning me ? ” inquired the rector good-humoredly. 

“ I mean just what I say : she knows that no man can 
hold out against a ‘little flattery. I can’t help being rather 
sorry for that unfortunate young Bligh, in sjnte of his 
silliness ; and yet, when I think of poor Cicely, 1 long to 
box his ears ! ” 

Mr. Lowndes said : — 

“ Cicely would hardly thank you for your interference, 
my dear. She is remarkably well able to manage her own 
affairs, and you may depend upon it that she knows a good 
deal more about Madame Souravieff and Archie than you 
‘do. You surely are not so simple as to suppose that he 
can go anywhere without telling her where he is going ? ” 

Nevertheless, the rector was not quite so free from un- 
easiness as he pretended to be. His wife was by no means 
the only person who had spoken to him upon a subject 
which was attracting general attention, and although he 
would not allow himself to doubt Archie’s loyalty, he could 
not help a silent admission that it looked very much as 
though Madame Souravieff were trying to make a conquest 
of the young fellow. 

This surmise was not altogether wide of the mark ; for 
Madame Souravieff had in truth thought at first that some- 
thing might be done in that direction. She had, however, 
speedily perceived that such an attempt would be a waste 


Misadventure. 


^15 

of time, and had contented herself xvith establishing a 
gradual ascendency over her victim, in her private rela- 
tions with whom she was pleased to assume the part of an 
elderly but sincerely sympathetic friend. And the piatter 
as to which she felt (and said) that he was more especially 
deserving of commiseration was that of his very trying 
position with regard to his future wife. With great deli- 
cacy and infinite precaution, she brought him to see that 
it was his duty to assert himself. “ Authority," his unCle 
had once said to him, “ ought to belong to the husband."' 
He repeated this observation to Madame Souravieff ; and 
although her own manner of life had hardly been ordered 
in consonance with that theory, she at once declared her- 
self a supporter of it. 

“ But that is elementary !" she exclaimed ; “ everybody 
knows that no other system is practicable." 

It may very well be that such is the case, and that Mr. 
Bligh had been quite right in the conviction which he had 
expressed. But then he had omitted to give effect to his 
conviction ; and the consequence of that omission seemed 
not unlikely to prove serious. It was, as Madame Soura- 
vieff had foreseen, a mere question of time; and the un- 
avoidable crisis was precipitated by an accident which 
answered the purpose as well as another. The partial 
management of the property which Archie had assumed 
before his uncle died had not been taken out of his hands, 
and although Cicely now held the reins, the agent, the 
land-steward and others had not ceased to seek interviews 
with him when they had reports or requests to make. It 
was to Archie, therefore, that the agent came one morning 
witli an incpiiry as to what was to be done about that 
troublesome fellow Coppard. Coppard, it appeared, had 
])aid no rent for a very long time past. He had always 
begged for extension of time, and by the late Mr. Bligh's 
directions, that extension had always been granted to him ; 
but really, said the agent, limits must be fixed somewhere. 
His own opinion was that if the man couldn’t or wouldn’t 
pay, he ought to be turned out. The village would be well 
rid of him anyhow ; for he was constantly leading other 
men into mischief. 

Archie may perhaps have felt that it would be a relief 
to him personally if circumstances should lead to the re- 
moval of Mr. Coppard from Abbottsport ; but he was not 


2i6 misadventure, 

conscious of any unworthy motive when he spoke to Cicely 
upon the subject and advised her in the sense advocated 
by the agent. 

“ Of course one would rather not turn people out of 
doors*” he said : “ but in this case there really seems to be 
no alternative.” 

“ I will see Coppard,” answered Cicely, after consider- 
ing for a moment. “If he can pay anything, well and 
good; if not it must stand over.” 

There was an authoritative decision in her tone which 
provoked Archie. 

“ You can do as you please,” said he ; “ but I warn 
you that you won’t be able to go on like that. It’s one 
thing to show reasonable consideration for your tenants 
and quite another to let them live in your cottages rent- 
free. What you do for one you’ll have to do for all — and 
then you’ll find yourself in a pretty mess ! ” 

“I believe most of the tenants pay punctually,”' 
answered Cicely. “ There are a few who are very poor 
and who look to a big catch of fish to bring them in what 
little money they can earn. My father never was hard 
upon them, nor shall I be.” 

“ I am not suggesting that you should be hard upon 
anybody who tries to gain an honest livelihood,” returned 
Archie ; “ but Coppard doesn’t. The fact is that he is a 
poaching, thieving, drunken vagabond.” 

Now Cicely had a liking for Coppard and she had a 
very strong constitutional dislike to dictation. Therefore 
she rejoined, with a slight laugh : — 

“ Oh, I know he isn’t a friend of yours ; you have never 
forgiven him for accusing you of sea-sickness that afternoon 
when we so nearly went to pieces on the bar.” 

“ I didn’t remember his having accused me of anything 
of the kind,” replied Archie — which, indeed, was true. 

“ My only reason for wanting to turn the man out was 
that I see what a bad precedent you will create if you 
don’t. One must have rules and stick to them if one is to 
manage an estate upon any workable principle.” 

“ I must do what seems to me to be right,” returned 
Cicely, coloring a little. “ I have the responsibility, and 
I can only use my own judgment.” 

“ Ah, yes ; there it is ! ” observed the young man, with 
a shrug of his shoulders. 


M/SJ D VENTURE. 


217 


I suppose you mean that my judgment is a poor thing 
to trust to.” 

“ No ; only that I wish you didn’t insist upon taking the 
whole responsibility. It isn’t necessary, you know.” 

“ I can’t give it up or — or share it with anybody,” 
answered Cicely, in a voice which sounded none the less 
uncompromising because it trembled a little. “ My father 
left it to me.” 

“ Yes ; but when he left it to you he didn’t forget that 
you were engaged to be married. I doubt whether it was 
ins intention that your husband should be a mere cypher.” 

For an instant Cicely looked as though she were going 
to make some angry retort ; but she only bit her lips and 
reverted to the original subject of dispute. 

“ At all events,” she said, “ I won’t have the Coppards 
disturbed.” 

If Archie had been a sensible man he would have said 
no more ; but he was not a very sensible man, and he had 
listened to perfidious counsels, and he thought that he 
would be acting foolishly if he abandoned the struggle. 

“ I don’t dispute your right to refuse me any control over 
your affairs,” was the next observation which he judged it 
advisable to make, “ bi-it it does seem to me that you make 
a mistake in insisting so strongly upon your rights. Other 
people think so too, as I happen to know.” 

“ Oh — other people ! ” returned Cicely, pricking up her 
ears. What other people, for instance ? ” 

Well, Madame Souravieff for one. No one can 
admire you more than she does ; so that she certainly isn’t 
an unfriendly critic. But of course she has seen a lot of 
the world and had a great deal of experience of one kind 
and another, and— — ” 

And not withstanding all these advantages,” inter- 
rupted Cicely, “ she hasn’t so much as learnt that it is 
rather bad taste to make criticisms upon me before you. 
I don’t complain of her criticisms — they may be fair, and 
it matters very little to me whether they are or not — but I 
do complain of your allowing her to make me the subject 
of any discussion with you. I don’t think that is loyal ; 
and it almost makes me believe ” 

She stopped herself just in time to avoid saying some- 
thing which would have justified Archie in responding by 
a tu quoqice. It was a pity that she did not go on ; for. 


2I8 


MIS A D VENTURE. 


had she done so, a clearance of the atmosphere would 
have been the probable result. As it was, Archie only 
saw that she was determined to have her own way and 
would tolerate no approach to opposition. He said, with 
an aggrieved air : 

“ I always thought you wanted me to make a friend of 
Madame Souravieff. It wasn’t very unnatural that I should 
talk to her about you, and I had no idea that you would 
object to it. As for her criticisms, they were innocent 
enough. Well, we had better drop the subject, I suppose. 
I’ll try to interfere as little as possible for the future.” 

Cicely left him without making any overtures for peace. 
She did not at all like his tone, and in spite of his dis- 
claimer she still thought he had been very much to blame 
in talking her over w'ith another woman. The poor fellow 
had indeed committed every blunder that it was possible 
to commit. He had challenged a naturally combative 
temperament, he had allowed it to be seen that he was 
acting under outside influences, and from first to last he 
had been petulant instead of conciliatory. Women may 
frequently be coaxed and almost always coerced, but to 
attempt to deal with them in a weak and complaining 
spirit is to woo disaster. 

Consequently, Cicely marched out of the house, shortly 
afterwards, with head erect and not an atom of repentance 
or compunction in her heart. 

“ He is not my husband yet,” she was thinking. 
“ When he is I shall of course obey him, unless he orders 
me to do something positively infamous, such as turning 
an unfortunate family out of house and home ; but for the 
present he has no business to tell me what I ought to do 
— and certainly Madame Souravieff has none. I have 
always doubted whether I really liked that woman, and 
now I am sure that I don’t. She is very pleasant while 
one is talking to her, but when one comes to think her 
over afterwards one gets an impression of insincerity some- 
how.” 

That was an impression which a great many people had 
formed of Madame Souravieff, and which was probably due 
to the circumstance that she had no sort of regard for 
literal truth. Setting that idiosyncrasy aside, she was in 
reality a somewhat unusually sincere person, being gifted 
with strong faith in several things and in a fair num- 


MISADVKNTUKF. 


219 


ber of individuals, and always shaping ner actions in 
harmony with her beliefs. She was a good deal more 
sincere, for example, than ]\Iark Chetwode, who at 
tliat moment was pacing the narrow streets of Abbotsport 
with slow step and a preoccupied mien. It was not Mark’s 
liabit to frequent the Abbotsport streets, whicli were 
scarcely inviting to a pedestrian at the best of times, and 
were especially objectionable in sultry summer weather, 
but he was putting up with the rough pavement and the 
bad smells now because it was Wednesday, and because 
he had discovered that on Wednesday afternoons Cicely 
invariably visited the alms-house and the modest little 
hospital. Moreover, he had heard Madame Souravieff 
invite Archie to look in about tea-time. 

The patience with which he strolled up and down the main 
thoroughfare under the inquisitive eyes of the inhabitants 
was at length rewarded ; and if he was glad to see Miss 
Bligh, she was very nearly as glad to see him. 

“You are the very person,” was her first remark, 
“whom I wanted to meet.” 

“ Indeed ? ” said Mark, with a slight air of surprise. 
“ In that case I rejoice that chance should have brought 
me this way. Although,” he added, smiling faintly, “ I 
am afraid I must not flatter myself that it was for my own 
sake that you wanted to meet me.” 

“ Well, not altogether,” confessed Cicely candidly. 
“ There are a few questions which I should like to ask 
you ; but we can’t talk comfortably here. Are you 
busy ? ” 

“ If I were I should be only too happy to neglect my 
business ; but of course I am not. How could I be ? ” 

“ Shall we walk down to the beach, then ? ” suggested 
Cicely. “ I know of a place where there is shade at this 
time of the day and where we are not likely to be 
interrupted.” 

This speech was one of a kind to which Mark had never 
yet been able to accustom himself, despite his growing 
familiarity with English ways. That such an invitation 
could be addressed by an unmarried woman to any man 
was to him so strange as to be almost comical ; and his 
pleasure in accepting it was somewhat marred by the 
thought that it never could have been given in that matter- 
of-course, unembarrassed fashion if his sentiments had 


220 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


been even dimly suspected. Still it was something to 
have been granted an excellent opportunity of making 
them known. When Cicely had conducted him to the 
sequestered cove of which she had spoken, and had seated 
herself upon a shelf of rock, motioning him to do likewise, 
he broke off in the middle of a humorous description of 
Mr. Simpkins’ lodgings to say : — 

“And your questions. Miss Bligh — I am dying with 
curiosity to hear what they can be.” 

“ Are you ? ” she returned, laughing a little ; “ you 
don’t look as if you were. But then you never do look as 
if you felt a shadow of curiosity about anything.” 

“ My looks belie me,” answered Mark gravely. “ I 
don’t know that I am a very curious person, but I often 
feel a great deal of curiosity — about you.” 

Cicely allowed this observation to pass, and said with 
some abruptness : — 

“ I want to hear a little more about Madame Souravieff. 
I think you understand her and I am not at all sure that I 
do. Why is she trying to make Archie dissatisfied ? ” 

Mark flicked pebbles across the sand with his stick and 
remained silent for some seconds. ■ At length he answered 
with apparent reluctance : — 

“ Madame Souravieff is an old friend of mine.” 

Cicely colored. She had not only received a very direct 
snub, but, what was worse, she felt that she had earned it. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said she ; I ought to have re- 
membered that. Of course you don’t like to say anything 
against her.” 

“ Well, I would rather not,” Mark confessed ; “ still I 
might just as well tell the truth as hold my tongue. If I 
could have told you that she was not trying to make your 
cousin dissatisfied, I should have done so — naturally.” 
Here he paused ; but as Cicely did not choose to commit 
herself to any further interrogatories, he resumed presently 
— Madame Souravieff has a defect which is not very 
uncommon, nor, I suppose, very inexcusable : she likes 
admiration. I don’t say that she would go any lengths to 
secure an admirer, but I think she would go a very long 
way. Then I believe she honestly imagines that you have 
as good reason to be dissatisfied as he has — and that she 
is doing you a service by — by leading him away. For my 
own part,” added Mark, “ I confess that I blame him more 
than her,” 


MISAb VENTURE. 


221 


Cicely had not bargained for so outspoken a reply as 
that, and was sorry that she had invited it. Having done 
so, however, she could not reasonably take offence ; so she 
merely observed : 

“Perhaps your reading of the situation may not be 
altogether correct.” 

“ Perhaps not,” he agreed. “ I was going to say I hope • 
it isn’t ; but that would be scarcely honest. For your sake 
I hope — forgive my candor — that it is.” 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” Cicely declared, turn- 
ing a displeased pair of eyes upon him. “ Why do you 
say that?” 

“ Ah, Miss Bligh, I shall certainly offend you if I tell 
you.” 

“ I wish you to tell me.” 

“Very well; it is easily told. I know — although you 
would not admit it — that you do not love the man whom ' 
you have promised to marry. The rest signifies very 
little. He may be unworthy of you, he may be less disin- 
terested than he appears to be at first, and Madame Sou- 
ravieff may be an unprincipled flirt. Or possibly none of 
these things may be so. What I am certain of is that you 
could never be happy as your cousin’s wife, and that is 
why I hope I am right in my reading of a situation which 
at least I may claim to have studied closely. Now I have 
offended you, as I knew I should, and I had better say 
good-bye.” 

He rose as he spoke, and Cicely followed his example. 
She had an odd feeling that she ought to be more affronted 
than she was. When Mark looked at her in a grave,-’ 
interrogative way, she did not dismiss him, as he was 
apparently waiting for her to do, but only said ; — > 

“'You are like everybody else in these parts ; you think 
that Archie is marrying me simply because 1 am rich. 
For what reason you think I am marrying him I don’t 
know. But it doesn’t much matter. Let us talk about 
something else.” 

“ By all means,” answered Mark, with his customary 
half smile. “ About the other questions which you had to 
ask me, for instance? ” 

“ No, I think not ; my curiosity is sufficiently satisfied 
for one day. You can go on giving me your impressions 
of the population of Abbotsport ; that is a subject which 
interests me, without being too exciting.” 


222 


MISADVENTURE. 


And while he- walked back to the village with her, he did 
as he was requested, doing it amusingly enough. He had 
shot his bolt and was satisfied that he had hit the mark. 
If Madame Souravieff could have overheard what he had 
said that afternoon she would probably have pronounced 
him unskillful ; but then she knew a great deal less about 
the peculiarities of Cicely’s character than he did. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

COUNT SOURAVIEFF’S CORRESPONDENCE. 

During tnat summer there used to be seen, hobbling up 
and down the alleys at Wiesbaden, or sitting in the Cursaal 
Gardens while the band played in the afternoons 'and 
evenings, a little old man wdth as clean-shaven face, the 
skin of which was covered with a infinite a number of 
wrinkles as that of Rembrandt’s mother would appear to 
have been. He always wore a tall hat ; also a black frock 
coat, which hung loosely upon him, and in the buttonhole 
of which were sundry scraps of colored ribbon, whereby 
the initiated were made aware that he was the possessor of 
several highly-coveted decorations. This gentleman was 
known by dwellers in the hotel at which he had taken up 
his quarters to be Count Souravieff, and was reported to be 
fabulously wealthy. He was in truth a very rich man, 
though of course not so rich (because nobody ever is) as 
he was believed to be. I-Ie had also been in his day a 
somewhat distinguished one, having held offices of impor- 
tance ; and he was now, owing to the worries brought 
upon him by an eccentric wife, together with the })erpetiial 
discomfort resulting from an unruly liver and chronic gout, 
a most thoroughly miserable one. 

Of this, indeed, he made no secret, and would confide 
his woes in a plaintive, querulous voice to all who could be 
})ersuaded to listen to them. 

, Ah, madame,” he would say (for it was chiefly to 
ladies that he was wont to appeal for pity), “ you see in me 
an unfortunate condemned to purgatory before his time ! 
For my part, I do not believe in a future state of purgatory 
— you are aware, perhaps, that our Church has neyer 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


223 


accepted that dogma — and it is therefore the more hard 
that 1 siioiild be compelled to admit its existence in this 
world without having done anything at all to deserve it.” 
And then, with a very little encouragement, he would 
proceed to relate what a terrible life he had had of it for 
years past with the countess. “ I live in terror, madame 
— positively in constant terror. I do not know what fresh 
scandal I may not hear of any day — I who abhor scandal ! 
You will ask, perhaps, why I allow her to live apart from 
me ? Ah, madame, that is because you do not know 
Madame Souravieff! She is a woman who has raised the 
power of exasperation to a fine art. At my age and in my 
state of health I am no longer able to endure what I could 
put up with when I was younger and stronger. Enfifi ! 
— death comes at last to all, and one may hope that after 
death comes at least peace.” 

Ladies very generally felt sorry for this forlorn and for- 
saken invalid ; but the sympathy of the small battalion of 
dependants with whom he traveled about was denied to 
him, because he was so cross and capricious. As, however, 
he paid them very well, they remained in his service and 
hoped that in making his will he would remember how for- 
bearing they had been with him. Victor, his valet, had 
gradually become his master — a lucrative post ; for it was 
not Madame Souravieff alone who found it advisable to 
replenish Victor's purse from time to time. The man, 
upon the whole, used his power for the general good and 
did not cheat those who bribed him, unless it seemed quite 
necessary for his own comfort and security that he should 
do so. For the general good it was almost always necessary 
to deceive Count Souravieff ; but that was really no fault 
of his, It would never have done, for example, to let the 
old gentleman know who Mr. Cfietwode’s tenant was ; and 
Victor had confined himself to the statement that madame 
had taken a country house in a remote part of England for 
the summer months. As the count did not correspond with 
his wife, and did not care where she might be so long as 
she was out of mischief, that assertion was accepted with- 
out further inquiry. 

But one meets all sorts of people at Wiesbaden, and in 
these days the well-to-do inhabitants of every county in 
England, remote or otherwise, are pretty sure to leave it 
at least once a year. There was, therefore, nothing extra- 


224 


M/S A D VENTURE. 


ordinary, although to some persons it may have been 
inconvenient, in the coincidence which brought Count 
SouraviefF upon speaking terms with Sir George Dare. Sir 
George, when abroad, made it a rule to speak to everybody 
who appeared approachable, and even to some who did not. 
Amongst the latter might have been counted the peevish- 
looking little old man whom he noticed on two consecutive 
evenings sitting all alone in the garden in front of the 
hotel ; but that, perhaps, was all the more reason for 
trying to cheer the melancholy stranger up. On the third 
day, accordingly. Sir George, who had just lighted his 
after-dinner cigar, plumped himself down upon an iron 
chair facing Count Souravieff and opened fire. 

“How do these waters suit you, sir? One don’t seem 
to get much good out of ’em at first j but I believe in the 
after effects. I find that by coming here every summer I 
can keep pretty clear of the gout for a twelvemonth. • The 
great thing is to have faith.” 

“ I am full of faith,” replied the count gravely. I have 
tried very nearly all the waters in Europe now, and I grow 
steadily worse. Yet I go on trying. It is impossible to 
be more faithful.” 

“Grow worse — do you really?” said Sir George, much 
interested. “Where does it catch you, now? With me 
it isn’t so much in the feet or hands; that I shouldn’t 
mind ; let’s have a good sharp fit, and liave done with it. 
But the nuisance is that sort of all-overishness that one 
gets ever so long before matters come to a climax. I 
always tell my doctor that I really can’t see the use of him 
unless he can stop what he calls symptoms. Why, the 
symptoms are worse than the disease — what ? ” 

Symptoms have at least one small advantage, which 
is that they afford an agreeable subject for discussion ; 
and especially so when you are able to discuss them with 
one who has experienced them all, only in a more aggra- 
vated form. On the other hand, if you are the greater 
sufferer of the two, that gives you a certain prestige ; and 
so it was that these two patients formed a high opinion of 
each other’s intelligence and conversational capacities. 
The count, who spoke excellent English, related in detail 
and with deep feeling the results of the various cures to 
which he had been persuaded to give a trial, while Sir 
George, listening open-mouthed, thanked his stars that. 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


225 


however bad he might be, he wasn’t so bad as all that. 
Presently, at the latter’s suggestion, they strolled as far as 
the Cursaal Gardens, where the band was playing ; and 
then Sir George judged that the proper time had come for 
him to reveal his identity. He accordingly fumbled in his 
pocket and produced a visiting-card, which he handed to 
the Russian, who could do no less than return this act of 
courtesy. 

“God bless me !” exclaimed Sir George, after holding 
up to the light the rather large and highly glazed bit of 
pasteboard which bore Count Souravieff’s name ; “what a 
very odd thing! I think' it must be your wife who has 
recently become a neighbor of ours — a temporary neighbor, 
that is. She has taken Upton Chetwode, a place near us, 
for a few months.” 

“ The lady of whom you speak is no doubt my wife,” 
replied the count, drawing down the corners of his mouth. 
“ Since you are acquainted with her, it is needless to tell 
you that my wife occupies herself a great deal with politics, 
and that her political crusades are continually getting me, 
as well as herself, into trouble. Only the other day I was 
obliged to insist upon her leaving London, where she had 
made herself so conspicuous as to bring down upon me a 
very sharp rebuke from our Foreign Office.” 

Sir George pursed up his lips and nodded. 

“ Oh,” said he, “ that was the reason she buried herself 
for the summer in our quiet part of the world, then ? To 
tell you the truth, we were puzzled to imagine what her 
reason could be.” 

“ Madame Souravieff,” answered that lady’s husband 
gravely, “ has usually more than one reason for her actions, 
but not all of them are as good as that which I have men- 
tioned. May I ask you to tell me once more the name of 
the house in which she is living ? ” 

“ Upton Chetwode. I think you know Mark Chetwode, 
the owner. At any rate he is a great friend of the 
countess’, and he has established himself in lodgings in 
the village during her tenancy, in order, I suppose, to be 
near her.” 

Sir George knew that this was a rather risky thing to 
say ; but he could not resist saying it, and watching the 
effect upon his companion, who indeed pulled a wry face 
and muttered something inaudible. But before anything 

8 ' 


226 


MISAV VENl'URE. 


more could be said on eitlier side Lady Dare and her 
daughters appeared upon the scene, and an introduction 
followed which presently furnished the count with an 
auditor of the sex which he preferred. The Dares had a 
good many friends in Wiesbaden, some of whom soon 
joined the young ladi<is, while Sir George was buttonholed 
by a Conservative M.P., who had paired for the remainder 
of the session and had a great deal to say about the 
obstructive tactics of the Opposition. Thus Count Soiira- 
vieff was left to walk with Lady Dare up and down the 
broad graveled expanse in front of the Cursaal, which was 
thronged by a thousaind or so of other Cu?'gastc, and he 
lost no time in telling her of his conjugal troubles, to which 
she lent a willing and compassionate ear. 

“ It is very distressing for you, and very wrong of her,” 
Lady Dare said, when he had concluded his recital ; “ still 
I doubt whether you have any cause for anxiety as regards 
Mr. Chetwode, who seems to have other designs.” 

She then explained at some length the position of affairs 
at Abbotsport, and related how Archie Bligh had apparently 
been seduced from his allegiance, adding with an annoyed 
look : — 

“ I had a letter this morning from Mrs. Lowndes, the 
wife of the parish clergyman, which throws a very disagree- 
able light upon Mr. Chetwode’s character. From what 
she tells me, I can’t but think that he is trying to kill two 
birds with one stone. He probably wishes to free him- 
self from Madame Souravieff and is also anxious to bring 
about a quarrel between young Bligh and his cousin, who, 
as I mentioned to you just now, is a great heiress. I am 
afraid — I am very much afraid — that his object is to take 
youbg Bligh’s place.” 

Lady Dare spoke with no little emotion ; because it did 
seem to her atrocious that, if this engagement was to come 
to nothing, poor Bobby should derive no advantage at all 
from its annulment. As for Count Souravieff, he natu- 
rally did not care much what Mr. Chetwode’s character or 
designs might be; but he was irritated by his wife’s auda- 
city in taking up her residence at Mr. Chetwode’s house, 
and when he returned to the hotel Victor had a bad five 
minutes. 

The valet, of course, protested his ignorance of madainc’s 
whereabouts, and his master told him roundly tliat he did 


7 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


227 


not believe a word he said. Thereupon Victor rejoined 
with dignity that since he was no longer trusted, he would 
prefer to give up his situation. Now there were certain 
secrets connected with the count’s toilet and the treat- 
ment of his ailments which Victor alone possessed. Count 
Souravieff, therefore, had to do wiiat many potentates have 
to do when indispensable personages tender their resigna- 
tion, and eat humble pie. However, he did not deem it ad- 
visable to despatch this doubtful envoy upon a third special 
mission to England. He determined, instead, to depart 
so far from his custom as to write to his wife, and before 
retiring to bed he composed the following epistle : — 

“ Madame, 

“Although I am well aware that the word discretion has 
no place in your dictionary, I have reason to believe that 
you are not usually blind to the dictates of ordinary pru- 
dence. I have therefore learnt with surprise that you have 
considered it prudent to defy me in what, even for you, 
must be called a peculiarly imprudent manner. I shall 
scarcely be accused of jealousy, yet I have a certain re- 
gard for the credit of the name which you still share with 
me and a certain aversion to be rendered publicly ridicu- 
lous. In becoming the tenant of Mr. Chetwode, whom 
you have pursued from one country to another with little 
care for your reputation or mine, and by persuading him 
to take up his residence in close proximity to you, you 
exceed all permissible limits, and I have to request that 
your tenancy shall cease forthwith. Any extra expense 
which this may entail I shall, as usual, be prepared to 
meet ; but I must beg you to understand that I expect 
to be obeyed. In the event of non-compliance I shall 
see myself compelled, much against^ my will, to stop the 
monthly remittances, which I have hitherto caused to be 
paid to you. 

“ Receive, madame, the assurance of my very high con- 
sideration. 

“ Boris Souravieff.” 

This, the count felt, was both dignified and business- 
like. He was not a strong man, and he knew that he was 
not • still, he held the reins and the whip, which nobody 
could take away from him. Experience had not taught 


228 


MIS AD VEN'rURE. 


him that it is one thing to sit on the box and quite another 
thing to be able to drive. As for making his wife move in 
any other direction than that which it pleased her to take, 
he had never in his life managed to accomplish so much ; 
but then, to be sure, he had not very often tried. He 
dreaded her political far more than her social indiscretions, 
and if she had been content to keep the latter within 
reasonable bounds, he would hardly have troubled himself 
to interfere with her ; but, as he had truly told her, he had a 
great dislike to being made ridiculous, and he thought 
that she was making him ridiculous now. Moreover, he 
was encouraged to be arbitrary by the somewhat unex- 
pected readiness with which she had accepted her dismis- 
sal from London. He looked forward, therefore, to a 
more or less prompt recognition of his authority, and in 
the meantime he cultivated the Dares, from whom he 
learnt many interesting particulars as to Madame Soiira- 
vieffs manner of life in the country. 

“ I am almost ashamed to say so,” Lady Dare declared, 
in the course of one of her conversations with him, “but 
I really cannot help thinking she must be privy to this 
shameful behavior of Mr. Chetwode’s. I doubt whether 
he would venture to pay his addresses to Cicely without 
Madame Souravieffs permission.” 

“ I am quite sure that he would not, madame,” replied 
the count, with a slight twinkle in the corner of his eye. 

“ But how very dreadful that is ! It shows such — such 
depravity ! I can understand his wanting to get rid of 
her ” 

“ So can I ! ” interpolated the count. 

“ But I cannot understand her wanting to get rid of him 
— and in such a way ! It is unnatural — at all events, it is 
very unlike a woman — to be so cynical.” 

“ It would not be very unlike Madame Souravieff,” said 
that lady’s husband ; “ she is capable of a great deal in 
the way of eccentricity. And it is not proved that she 
wishes to get rid of Mr. Chetwode. Because a man is 
married, that is not a reason for bidding him adieu. On 
the contrary, marriage sometimes affords increased oppor- 
tunities for friendship.” 

At this Lady Dare could only throw up her hands and 
gasp. 


31/SAD VENTURE. 


229 


“ Cicely must never be made the victim of such horrible 
machinations ! ” she ejaculated with fervor. 

“ Let' us hope that she may be preserved from them,” 
returned the count, smiling. 

He could form a tolerably shrewd conjecture as to his 
wife's aims and motives ; he knew that she would like 
Mark Chetwode to become a rich man, and he understood 
— what Lady Dare, who belonged to a different race, 
would never have understood — that a combination of love 
and ambition might lead her to act as she was reported to 
be acting. He did not, however, mention his letter to 
her, because his appeal for sympathy rested upon the 
ground that his wife had emancipated herself from his con- 
trol : added to which, he thought it might be as well to wait 
for a reply before admitting that he had given an order. 
The reply came by return of post, and a very unsatisfac- 
tory sort of reply it was : — 

My Dear Boris, 

“ It must be confessed that, for a man who hates to be 
ridiculous, you have an unfortunate trick of making yourself 
so. Why all these sonorous phrases ? You know that 
you have only to speak the word anil I will at once join 
you at Wiesbaden, as a submissive wife should. Be good 
enough to let me know whether such is your wish, for I, 
too, am not precisely fond of being laughed at ; and 
everybody will begin to laugh at me when it is known that 
I have once more been commanded to shift my quarters at 
a moment’s notice. If I leave Upton Chetwode, I leave ’ 
England. By the way, if you had thought proper to ask 
me the question, I should have told you that Mr. Chet- 
wode (of whom you are so good as to say that you are not 
jealous) had let his house to me. I am afraid I cannot 
flatter myself that his remaining in the neighborhood is 
due to any poor attractions that I can offer. Shall I let 
you into a secret? It is not improbable that we may hear 
before long of his betrothal to a lady who has large estates 
near his, and if you will believe me, I am giving him all 
the assistance in my power. 

“ Tout a vous, 


“Olga.” 


230 


M/SA D VENTURE. 


The count seized pen and paper, and promptly delivered 
the following counterblast. He was somewhat agitated at 
starting, but he cooled down as he went on : — 

“ Madame, 

“ I do not wish you to come to this place ; in fact I for- 
bid you to do so. My state of health does not allow of 
my supporting the scenes with which you favor me when- 
ever we meet. At the same time, I have to repeat my re- 
quest that you will leave your present domicile. You may 
go to any other place in or out of England that may suit 
you. Permit me to observe that your ruse is sufficiently 
transparent to those who have the honor of being acquaint- 
ed with you. I can well believe that you are anxious to 
marry Mr. Chetwode to a lady who owns large estates, 
and I have no difficulty in guessing at the state of things 
which you think likely to result from such a marriage. 
What is a little droll is your capacity for shutting your 
eyes to dangers which should be obvious to a woman of 
your age. I have sources of information which I need not 
specify, but which lead me to believe that in this instance 
you have overshot your mark. Has it really not occurred 
to you that Miss Bligh (am I correct in stating the lady’s 
name ?) is young and beautiful, as well as rich, and that, 
in spite of the poet, Oii ne revieiit jaf?iais a ses ancie7i?ies 
amours ? 

“ Deign, madame, to accept the assurance of my sym- 
pathy and my highest consideration. 

“ Boris Souravieff.” 

“ I think,” said the count, rubbing his hands, “ that that 
last paragraph will enrage her. It may not be true ; but 
she will certainly think that it is true, and she will grind 
her teeth.” 


MISADVENTURE. 


«3i 


CHAPTER XXX. 

A LITTLE LOSS OF TEMPER, 

It is not very easy for Western people to realize the ethical 
standard of men of Mark Chetwode’s semi-Slavonic nature. 
Western people object very strongly to telling direct false- 
hoods, but can without much difficulty reconcile them- 
selves to a suggestio falsi or a suppressio veri. Easterns, 
on the other hand, hold (perhaps more logically) that the 
harm of a lie is in the deceit, and that, if you are going 
to deceive your neighbor at all, you bad better do it 
thoroughly. Judged according to the law of his own con- 
science (and, after all, what is the use of attempting to fix 
responsibility upon any other principle?) Mark was not 
habitually dishonorable. It gave him great discomfort to 
act in what he felt to be a dishonorable way, and nothing 
but considerations of paramount importance ever made 
him do so. He differed from most Englishmen, no doubt, 
in very many respects, but in none more so than in his 
ability to deceive others, when he gave his mind to it, 
and his inability to deceive himself. To play the part 
suggested to him by Madame Souravieff did not precisely 
coincide with his idea of what is becoming in a man of 
strict integrity, and to improve upon it by throwing dust 
in the eyes of Madame Souravieff herself jarred a little 
upon his sense of self-respect; yet, having once deter- 
mined that a certain amount of dirt must be swallowed, he 
swallowed it without making ugly faces. If he made 
any false excuse for himself it was only in so far as he 
still clung to the notion that the Bligh family had pilfered 
his land from him, and that he had a sort of moral right to 
get it back by any means that might offer. 

He played his game with great coolness, tact, and success. 
His fellow-conspirator was persuaded that the whole 
business went against the grain with him, and constantly 
scolded him for neglecting to make the most of his opportu- 
nities, while over Cicely he established by degrees a sort 


232 


MISADVENTURE, 


of ascendency which was not the less dangerous to her 
because she was absolutely unconscious of it. In his 
intercourse with her he did not again use such freedom of 
speech as he had permitted himself that afternoon on the 
beach ; but indirectly he made her aware that he under- 
stood her feelings very well, and it seemed to her that he 
was the only person who did understand them. Archie, 
it was true, had been told in the plainest terms what they 
were ; but Archie had apparently forgotten what he had 
been told. An unaccountable change had come o\Tr 
Archie, who now assumed a dictatorial tone when he did 
not take up an aggrieved one, and was evidently no longer 
satisfied with the humble position which he had at first 
accepted with so much eagerness and gratitude. In 
meditating upon it. Cicely called this change unaccount- 
able ; but of course it might be accounted for, and she had 
in reality, although not confessedly, adopted Mark’s 
solution of what did not look like a very obscure enigma. 
If her pride was wounded, as doubtless it was, she con- 
cealed any mortification that she may have felt, and was very 
careful to lay no sort of restriction upon her betrothed or 
upon his manner of passing his time. If he wished to be 
released from his engagement, it was for him to tak^ the 
initiative ; she had no complaint to make and made none. 

This may have been a very proper and dignified attitude 
to adopt ; but naturally it widened a breach which had 
already been noticed with complacency and satisfaction 
by everybody in Cicely’s small circle, with the solitary 
exception of Mr. Lowndes. The rector, for his part, did 
not half like the turn matters were taking, and went so far 
as to confide his uneasiness to Miss Skipwith, who said 
she really thought that when people showed themselves in 
their true colors, one should be thankful instead of 
grumbling. 

“ Their true colors ! ” echoed Mr. Lowndes impatiently 
“ And, pray, what do you suppose to be Archie’s true 
colors ? Haven’t you been vowing and declaring all along 
that the estate was what he wanted? Now you secern to 
think that he is ready to sacrifice the estate and Cicely 
too for the sake of a lady who, I dare say, is as innocent 
of any desire to flirt with him as you are. How do you 
reconcile two such opposite viewjof the same individual? ” 

“ I don’t see anything irreconcilable about them,” Miss 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


233 


Skipwith replied. “ I think just what I have always 
thought about the young man ; I think he is devoid of 
principle.’’ And she nodded triumphantly at the rector, 
as though inviting him to find a weak place in that succinct 
analysis if he could. 

The rector did not attempt to prove its absurdity ; he 
only got up and shook himself and said : — 

“ Oh, dear me, what nonsense ! ” And then : — “ A 
pretty mess you are going to make of it among you.” 

What perturbed him more than anything else was the 
increasing intimacy between Cicely and Mark Chetwode, 
which was being freely commented upon all over the parish. 
Even old Coppard had had the impudence to speak to 
him about it — Coppard who had heard of Archie’s wish to 
dispossess him of the cottage which he did not pay for, 
and who did not scruple to say : — 

“ Furriner or no' furriner, that there Mr. Chetwode is a 
deal more tender-hearted than some as should be his betters, 
being Britons and Christians by birth; and if Miss Cicely 
have found it out, why, so much the better, sir, in my 
opinion.” He added, “ No offence, sir,” when the rector 
frowned at him ; but Mr. Lowndes rejoined : — 

‘‘There is offence, Coppard ; there is very great offence 
in your talking like that, and I beg you won’t do it again.” 

Mr. Lowndes was much more afraid of Mark Chetwode 
than of Archie ; for he knew that the latter was tender- 
hearted enough, so far as Cicely was concerned, and had 
no belief in his alleged enslavement by the Russian lady. 
Only he did think it rather odd that the young man should 
spend so much time at Upton Chetwode. Very likely he 
would have thought it still more odd if he could have 
overheard the kind of dialogue which took place there 
daily between Archie and his friendly adviser. The differ- 
ences which are apt to arise between engaged persons 
always seem absurd to outsiders, who cannot for the life 
of them see why such a prodigious fuss should be made 
about misunderstandings which a few words could set 
straight. 

But Madame Souravieff, whatever may have been her 
private convictions as to the probable effect of those few 
words, had no notion of allowing them to be spoken, and 
assured Archie that the present period of his career was 
critical in the extreme. “ You must show that you are a 


234 


MISADVENTURE, 


man,” she would say, in response to his somewhat querulous 
lamentations. What signifies a little passing discomfort ? 
This is not a question of a few weeks or months, but of 
your whole life. It is now or never with you.” 

“And if it should be never?” ejaculated the young 
man one day, in despair. “ I really don’t think I so very 
much care. After all, the property is hers, not mine, and 
if she does mismanage it and make mistakes, the worst 
that can happen is that she will lose a few hundreds a 
year — which she won’t miss.” 

“ Ah, no, my friend,” returned Madame Souravieff, 
smiling sadly, “ that is not the worst that can happen, nor 
anything like the worst. The worst will be that she will 
learn to disregard you altogether — to treat you with con- 
tempt. It is an inevitable process ! Don’t you' think 
that there are even some signs of it having already b^un ? ” 

Unfortunately for him he did think so : otherwise his 
love for Cicely and his miserable sense of alienatidn from 
her would in all probability have led him to defy fai^seeing 
counsels. As it was, he found his sole solace in listening 
to these, in feebly combating them, and in dilating upon 
his woes by the hour ; insomuch that when he went away, 
poor Madame Souravieff almost yawned her head off. 

“ Cest assommant .U she would exclaim pathetically to 
Mark. “ Never since the world began was there such an 
imbecile as that young officer ! Everybody who is in love 
is wearisome’; but he ! Oh, no words can express how 
wearisome he is ! Frankly, I sometimes doubt whether it 
was worth while to undertake this exhausting labor even 
for you.” 

“I am sincerely grateful,” the perfidious Mark would 
rejoin. “ And I can feel for you. Remember that I am 
not exactly enjoying myself all this time. I, too, have to 
spend some long hours and half-hours.” 

Such assertions pleased Madame Souravieff, and restored 
her gaiety to her. The curious thing was that she believed 
them. Or possibly it was not so very curious ; because 
most of us know from personal experience that a great 
deal is believed in for no better reason than that disbelief 
would be too painful to be faced. ' 

The first letter which Madame Souravieff received from 
her husband was simply a source of amusement to her. 
She replied after the manner related, having perfect co. ' 


M/s A D VEN7 'U RE. 


235 


fidence in the efficacy of her threat, and troubled herself 
no more about the matter. But the second letter was 
another affair, and the count would have been much gra- 
tified if he had seen her face while she perused it. One 
may shut one's eyes to the truth for almost any length of 
time, unless some unfeeling wretch thinks fit to put it 
into words, but when once that has happened, all is 
over. Facts are facts, whether stated or not ; but the 
statement of them frequently makes all the difference, and 
there were threads of grey in Madame Souravieff's abun- 
dant dark tresses. Gazing into her hand-mirror now, it 
seemed to her that they had lately become much more 
numerous. There were lines on her forehead, too, and 
something like a first indication of crow’s-feet at the cor- 
ners of her eyes. Her heart faltered and sank as she 
contemplated herself. Beauty had not yet deserted her, but 
3'’outh had, and in certain contests youth is invariably and 
inevitably the victor. In a sudden access of passion she 
had struck her forehead sharply with her clenched hand. 

Idiot ! ” she exclaimed. And then — “ Oh, why are 
men ike that } We are not. I should love him if he were 
old aid grey and bald — it would make no difference. But 
they never love us ; they only love our faces.” 

Madame Souravieff may have been mistaken as regards 
our sex at large — let us hope that she w;as — but she was 
not ct all mistaken with regard to Mark Chetwode, who 
had ceased to love her before ever he saw Cicely Bligh. 
The certainty that this was so came upon her, as tLit kind 
of certainty generally does, without proof or need of it ; 
but if she wanted to make assurance doubly sure, proofs, 
or vhat seemed to her to be such, were shortly to be given 
her For by-and-bye, growing restless, she went out of 
doers and wandered along that footpath by which Morton 
Bli^h had left the house on a memorable evening. And 
wlien she drew near the gate which divided Mark Chet- 
wede’s estate from that of his more wealthy neighbor, 
whom should she descry, standing one oij either side of it, 
but the two persons of whom her thoughts were full. 

They did not notice her, but continued their conversa- 
tion, which had the* appearance of being an interesting one. 
Mark was leaning over the gate and talking with more 
animation than usual ; Cicely was listening to him with 
her eyes cast down, and a smile uoon her lips. How was 


MISADVENTURE, 


236 

Madame Souravieff to know that they were engaged upon 
a harmless discussion as to the respective lots of the Rus- 
sian and English peasantry? She joined them, with anger 
and dismay "in her heart and a countenance expressive of 
pleased surprise. They did not look in the least discon- 
certed ; but Cicely, who of late had taken to treating her 
Russian friend with somewhat cold politeness, ceased to 
smile, and, after the interchange of a few commonplaces, 
observed that it was time for her to go home. 

“ You always run away from me now ! ” Madame Soii- 
r.ivieff exclaimed reproachfully. Mr. Chetwode is more 
fortunate ; when you are talking to him you are in no such 
hurry to find out what o’clock it is.” 

“ Why did you say that ? ” Mark inquired, when Cicely 
had wished them both good-bye and had retired. “ It was 
not in very good taste, was it? ” ’ ! 

Madame Souravieff answered his question by another. 

“ Why have you deceived me ? ” she asked, fixing her 
eyes upon his. “ Since you have fallen in love witk that 
girl, why had you not the honesty to tell me so ? Did you 
think that I should never find it out ? ” 

Mark had not been quite so sanguine as that, but he had 
thought that the discovery might very well be deferred 
until such time as it should no longer be a danger to him. 
He did not, however, put forward that explanation Af his 
conduct ; he only remarked : — | 

“ Somebody has been suggesting absurdities to you, I 
suppose.” I 

“Somebody has suggested the truth to me,”' she 
returned. It is strange that the suggestion should be 
required, and still more strange that it should have dpme 
from the count ; but that does not much signify. The 
only thing that signifies is that I know the truth now.”i 
She told him about the letters which she had received 
from her husband, growing more excited as she spoke, ind 
finally giving way to one of those uncontrollable paroxy^is 
of wrath which were so repellant to him. 

“ You will understand that I cannot remain any longer 
in your house,” she declared in conclusion. “ I shall obey 
the count ; I shall leave this place. Then you can marry 
Miss Bligh if she will have you, and you will not have to 
play the hypocrite every day, as you have done lately. 
That would be a relief to you, I should tliink.” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


237 


He had very great difficulty in pacifying her. More 
than once in the course of the long disputation which 
ensued he was tempted to drop the mask and admit his 
treachery — if a change of feelings which no human being 
can help ought to be called by that name. But he did 
not trust Madame Souravieff sufficiently to run such risks. 
She was a powerful ally and would be a dangerous enemy : 
that she would remain neutral it was impossible lo believe. 
And yet, with all the trouble that he gave himself, he 
achieved no more than a partial success. Her anger, 
indeed, cooled down, but she only half believed assevera- 
tions to which even his skill could hardly impart a ring of 
sincerity. 

Nevertheless, I think I will go away,” she said at last. 
‘‘ I have done all that I can for you \ you will manage what 
remains as well without me as with me. There is no need 
to go on protesting ; what has happened now — or hasn’t 
happened yet — is simply what w’as sure to happen from 
the first. It is nobody’s fault, I daresay.” 

Mark was far from satisfied when he left her. Resig- 
natio.i, as he knew, was not one of her virtues, nor was 
consistency among her attributes. Because she seemed to 
be passive now, it did not at all follow that she would not 
be active to-morrow, and only a very little activity on her 
part .vas.required to demolish the edifice he had so labori- 
ously built up. 

“ vVhat she wants,” he mused, “ is something to divert 
her boughts. If only those wretched people in Bulgaria 
wouid move ! They are long past their time, as it is. I 
must remind her of that — and that it is lack of money that 
is keeping them back. Any way I am at her mercy, and 
mint remain at her mercy for a long time to come. If I 
weie not one of the most unlucky of mortals she would 
ha)e wearied of me before now ; if she hasn’t, it is not 
because I haven’t given her cause, Heaven knows 1 ” 


238 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

A REVELATION. 

To be at a woman’s mercy is (with all due respect and 
admiration for the many virtues which women possess and 
we do not) an undesirable position for any man to occupy. 
No one will deny that women are often merciful ; but few 
even of themselves would assert that they are wont to 
show mercy to rivals or traitors, and it is as well nnt to 
expect of them that they should. What Mark expected 
of Madame Souravieff was that she would make a full 
revelation to Cicely of his designs and hers, and be very 
sorry for it afterwards. After a fashion he understood 
her ; but only after a fashion, recognizing the enthudasm 
and impulsiveness of her temperament, without allowing 
her credit for a certain nobility which was likely to deter 
her from injuring him in the manner that he feared. He 
thought it an ominous sign that she had not asked him to 
return to dinner with her. While he disposed of the 
unappetizing meal which went by that name under the roof 
of Mr. Simpkins he pictured her sitting alone in 1 the 
gloomy dining-room at Upton Chetwode and reviewingithe 
situation. His representations had produced some effect 
upon her ; but was there any chance of the effect being 
other than transitory? He could imagine that she wo|dd 
at first laugh at herself for having been taken in by sifeh 
obvious falsehoods, then fall to brooding over her wrongs, 
then work herself up into another fury, and finally resol'e 
to be avenged upon him, cost what it might. Her habit 
was to strike while the iron was hot : it was far from im- 
])robable that she would drive over to the Priory imme- 
diately after breakfast the next morning, in order to take 
a step which could never be retraced. 

The more Mark reflected upon this contingency the 
greater became his uneasiness and his desire to avert it. 
It might be averted by the exercise of personal influence, 
but then again it might be precipitated by the same 


JlIfSAD V/^A'^TURE. 


239 


means ; for of course it would be a fatal mistake to appear 
too anxious. He hesitated, therefore, to yield to his incli- 
nation, which was to stroll up to Upton Chetwode in the 
course of the evening for a cigarette and a quiet chat with 
his tenant. There would be nothing out of the way in his 
doing what he had done so many times before ; still, if she 
should suspect the object of his visit, he would be in a 
worse predicament than if he had remained away. 

He had not yet made up his mind what he would do, 
when he left his stuffy little lodgings and wandered through 
the steep street which led out of the village to the heights 
above it. It was a still, sultry night, and whether he went 
to Upton Chetwode or not, he felt that he could not 
remain within doors, haunted by the odors of Mr. Simp- 
kins’ bacon and cheese. As he slowly mounted the hill, 
and passed the confines of the property which was all that 
remained to him of his ancestral estates, the summer twi- 
light was fading into darkness, and the stars were begin- 
ning to show themselves, one by one, in a blue-black sky. 
He was by nature a melancholy man ; his life had been 
spent chiefly in busy cities ; he did not love the country, 
and the hush of the falling night oppressed him. On 
reaching the margin of one of his own woods he seated 
himself upon a felled trunk, dropped his head upon his 
hand and pondered over the past, the present and the 
future. None of the three appeared satisfactory. The 
best half of life was over for liim and had bequeathed him no 
pleasant memories ; at an age when most men are supposed 
to be exempt from the risk of falling in love he had, for 
the first time, experienced a passion of such intensity that 
the mere idea of failure made him shudder; and when, 
somewhat against the grain, he forced himself to look for- 
ward, he saw difficulties and dangers without end. 

“ How much better it would be for me,” he thought, 
‘‘ if I were as cold as Olga makes me out, and if I wanted 
nothing more now than I wanted when she and old Wing- 
field persuaded me to try conclusions with an unknown 
traineur de sabre ! I might have beaten the traineur de 
sabre — I may beat him yet, if I am not interfered with, 
because he isn’t very hard to beat — but shall I ever obtain 
the only thing that I care for? Acres of land, and 
pockets full of money — at the best, I can hardly hope to 
get mere than those, and they ought to satisfy my ambi- 
tion. The unfortunate thing is that they don’t.” 


240 


MIS AD VENTUI^E. 


This was a bad beginning ; and matters looked darker 
still when he reflected that even the acres and the money 
were in serious jeopardy. He felt too depressed and un- 
nerved to carry out his half-formed intention of facing 
Madame Souravieff again that night ; so he remained 
motionless where he was, notwithstanding the darkness 
and the heavy dew, until the sound of a cautious footfall 
in the wood behind attracted his attention. Somebody 
who evidently did ijot wish to attract attention was 
approaching him, and had he been brought up in England, 
he would have guessed at once what the unseen individual 
was about. As it was, he only supposed that small por- 
tions of his timber were being appropriated, and did not 
much care if they were. But after a time a thick-set, 
heavily-built man emerged from the wood within a stone’s 
throw of him and stood for a moment, glancing right and 
left and listening. The pockets of this man’s pilot coat 
bulged out from his person in a suspicious manner ; also, 
to remove all doubt as to the occupation upon which he 
had just been engaged, there dangled from his left hand 
the lifeless body of a hare. 

“ Oho ! ” thought Mark ; ai\d with a sudden spring he 
threw himself upon the unsuspecting poacher, the collar of 
whose coat he gripped firmly. It was not the safest thing 
in the world to do ; but Mark was no sufferer from timidity, 
and a guilty conscience, as we know, will make cowards of 
the most intrepid. 

Mr. Coppard’s conscience was not especially sensitive ; 
nevertheless, he did not attempt to show fight, but dropped 
his hare and exclaimed in a lamentable voice : — 

“ Lord love ’ee, sir, yofi ain’t got no call to kill a man ! 
I’m ready to go along quite quiet and be give into cus- 
tody — if so be as you’ve the ’eart to do it, sir.” 

“ I really see no reason why I shouldn’t give you into 
custody,” said Mark ; “ you appear to have been robbing 
me of my game. What punishment are you liable to for 
such offences ? ” 

“ Three months’ ’ard labor, sir — or may be double,’,’ 
answered Coppard, with a sigh and a sad memory of pi:;e- 
vious convictions. “ Come to that, I don’t know but that 
it might run to penal servitude for a term o’ years. ’Tis 
cruel ’ard, sir, upon a man with a ’ungry family.” 

“ The pains and penalties of the law,” observed Mark 


MIS.! D VENTURE. 


241 


calmly, “ are always hard in individual cases. It is a com- 
fort to think that no individual is compelled to lay him- 
self open to them.” 

“ What should you do yourself, sir, if your wife and 
children was in want and you couldn’t get no work 

Really I don’t know ; very likely I should rob some- 
body. But that is no reason for allowing myself to be 
robbed. In addition to which, I don’t believe that your 
wife and children are hungry, because that is a state of 
things which Miss Bligh would never permit.” 

“ There’s a many things, sir,” answered Coppard sol- 
emnly, “as Miss Cicely would not permit, if she knowed 
of ’em, and could prevent ’em. My being sent into penal 
servitude for one. She won’t thank you for doin o’ that 
there job, you may depend.” 

But since Mark did not take that hint, and remaining 
obdurate in spite of a very penitent and touching appeal 
for pity, it seemed as though the time had come to take a 
step which Coppard had contemplated for some time past. 
He said : — 

“Look ’ee here, sir; I could tell you somethin’ as ’ud 
make it well worth your while to overlook what I done to- 
night. ’Tis well known in Abbotsport as you’re sweet 
upon Miss Cicely. You’ll excuse me puttin’ things so 
plain ; but a man in my desp’rate plight can’t afford to be 
over nice, you see, sir. Well, sir, you give me your word 
as you’ll take no proceedin’s in this unfortnit business and 
I’ll ’elp you with her in a way as’ll maybe astonish you.” 

“ You are very obliging,” answered Mark ; “ but I think 
I will hear what you have to say before I commit myself to 
any promises.” 

This excessive caution grieved Mr. Coppard, who 
observed that he was not one to deceive those who reposed 
trust in him. His own disposition, he gave it to be under- 
stood, was eminently trustful ; nevertheless, he should 
feel it due to himself to keep his lips closed in default of a 
distinct undertaking that he should not be haled before 
the magistrates. 

“ What I got to say to you, sir,” he added, by way of 
incentive, “ is a thing as ’ud remove young Mr. Bligh out 
o’ your way for hever and for hever ; I don’t mind tellin’ 
you so much as that.” 

“ Oh, something to young Mr. Bligh’s disadvantage, is 


242 


MISADVENTURE. 


it?” returned Mark. “Very well; say on. Probably 
your information will be of no value ; but on the other 
hand, it would not afford me any particular satisfaction to 
send you to prison. You may consider yourself safe from 
me.” 

The ground being thus cleared, Coppard proceeded to 
make his statement. He spent some time in preliminary 
remarks, because, being an Abbotsport man born and bred, 
he never did or said anything without due deliberation, 
and because self-respect required of him that he should 
explain how it was that he came to be acting in what a 
superficial observer might deem an unfriendly way to “ the 
family.” Any superficial observer whp should jump to 
such a conclusion would, it appeared, be falling into a very 
great mistake. 

“What I seen I kep’ to myself, sir, and should have 
continued for to keep to myself, spite of any temptation 
as you could ha’ hoffered to me, without I’d come to feel 
sartain sure as that there young gentleman was no proper 
’usband for our Miss Cicely. Wanted to turn me out of 
’ouse and ’ome, he did — and would ha’ done it too, on’y 
Miss Cicely she worn’t agoin’ to be dictated to by he, bless 
her ! ” 

“ I can fully enter into your sentiments with regard to 
him,” said Mark. “ He evidently deserves neither pity 
nor sympathy. Now perhaps you will tell me about what 
you saw him do.” 

Coppard’s reply was very startling and very unexpected. 

“ I seen him commit murder, sir — that’s what I seen him 
do. And the murdered man was Mr. Morton Bligh, as 
met his death by misadventure, accordin’ to the verdict of 
the crowner’s jury. Same as made some unpleasant and 
uncalled-for observations about you, sir, you’ll remember.” 

Mark’s emotions were not easily stirred, but his heart 
began to beat fast now, and it was with a somewhat thick 
utterance that he said : — 

“This is a serious matter.” 

“ So ’tis, sir,” Co^Dpard assented. “ ’Tis what you might 
call a ’angin’ matter, though my ’ope is as it won’t come to 
that. Any way, what I seen I seen, and can depose to 
upon hoath, if required.” 

“ You were placed upon your oath at the inquest, were 
you not ? ” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


243 


‘‘ I were, sir, and replied truthfully to all questions asked, 
as in dooty bound.” 

“ Ah ! I thought you were bound to tell not only the 
truth but the whole truth. I am afraid you may get into 
trouble if you don’t tell the whole truth now. Let us hear 
it, at all events.” 

“ If you please, sir,” answered Coppard. 

His narrative, if somewhat diffuse, was circumstantial 
and bore the impress of veracity. It seemed that on the 
night of the fatal occurrence he had been, for purposes of 
his own over which he passed lightly, in the vicinity of the 
spot where his auditor and he now were. He had witnessed 
the meeting between the two cousins, and although he had 
been too far off to hear what passed between them, he had 
judged by their raised voices that something like an alter- 
cation had immediately ensued. His impression had cer- 
tainly been that Mr. Morton was not sober. 

“ Well, sir, arter a time they seemed to get more friendly 
like, and Mr. Harchibald he ketches ’old o’ t’other by the 
harm and leads him off quite quiet. ‘ So,’ thinks I, ‘ you’ve 
made it up, and a good job too ! ’ For you see, sir, ’tis 
mere foolishness to quarrel with a man as don’t know 
what he’s about, and a thing I would never do myself, not 
if the provocation was ever so. Well, sir, I didn’t look no 
more, but turned my back upon ’em, havin’ other things to 
’tend to, till I ’ears a sort o’ scramblin’ and scufflin’, and 
runs out from the trees just in time to see Mr. Morton roll 
over the cliff and Mr. Harchibald on his ’ands and knees 
close to the hedge. ’Twas touch and go with him, sir, you 
may depend, and the marvel to me is that we didn’t have 
two deaths in the fam’ly ’stead o’ one, that night. Mr. 
Harchibald, he seemed sort o’ mazed like; and there he 
were, settin’ on the grass, for the best part of a quarter of 
an hour, I should say, afore -he jumps up and runs off 
towards the station as fast as he can go. Dessay you may 
have heard, sir, as he missed the train he said he meant to 
travel by that night and didn’t leave till after midnight. 
A very orkard circumstance, by my way o’ lookin’ at it.” 

“ And you never .said a word about all this ? ” 

“Not me, sir! Thinks I to myself, ‘This maybe mis- 
fortun’ or it may be intention ; ’taint for me to speak 
positive as to one or to t’other. But this I knows for sure : 
I ain’t agoin’ to break Miss Cicely’s ’eart. Nor yet I 


244 


MISADVENTURE. 


shouldn’t ha’ spoke as I done to-night if I’d tlioiight as 
there was any fear o’ that, sir.” 

“ Oh, you don’t think there is any fear of that,” said 
Mark, absently. 

“ Else I should ha’ kep’ my mouth shut, sir, as I tell ’ee. 
'Bwt you know better nor I do what Miss Cicely’s feelin’s 
is.” 

There was a rather long pause, after which Mark said : — 

“ I should recommend you to keep your mouth shut 
until I call upon you to open it again — and that, most 
likely, will be never. I daresay you have sense enough to 
see that you would do yourself no- good by telling this 
story so late in the day. There is no reason at all why 
you should be believed, and there is more than one reason 
for looking upon your statement with suspicion. You are 
known to bear a grudge against the man whom you accuse, 
for instance.” 

“ Upon my solemn Bible oath ” began Coppard. 

“ Oh, you needn’t trouble about that ; you have con- 
vinced me. The question for you to consider is what your 
unsupported evidence is worth ; and in my opinion it isn’t 
worth much, coming so long after the event. You swear 
that you saw certain things ; young Mr. Bligh swears that 
you couldn’t have seen them, sinced they never occurred ; 
impartial people have to decide which is telling the truth, 
and they naturally conclude that you are a malignant 
slanderer. At least, that is my idea of what will happen. 
I am not sure whether malignant slander is as heinous an 
offence as killing hares ; but I presume that you may be 
sent to prison for it.” 

Coppard scratched his head in perplexity. 

“Then bain’t you going to take advantage of this here, 
sir ? ” he asked. 

“ I haven’t made up my mind yet wlmt I shall do ; I am 
only giving you reasons for silence. By your own account 
you wish to avoid distressing Miss Bligh if possible, and of 
course that is also my wish. It is quite upon the cards 
that I may decide to let her remain in ignorance of the 
whole affair.” 

“ As you please, sir,” answered Coppard, with a puzzled 
look; “’tis for you to say what shall be done. Though 1 
can’t think,” he added presently, “ as you’ll allow Miss 
Cicely to marry her brother’s murderer.” 


MISA D VEN'I 'URE, 


245 


‘‘ That, however, seems to have been what you were pre- ‘ 
pared to do until you found yourself in danger of being 
committed for trial upon a charge of poaching. Now that 
you have escaped that danger you had better be thankful 
and hold your tongue. If ever I want your evidence I 
shall call upon you for it ; but if I don’t call upon you I 
shall expect you to know no more than you said you knew 
when you were examined at the inquest. Do you under- 
stand ? ” 

Coppard replied that he did, pledged himself to secrecy 
and went off home, taking his booty with him, since he had 
not been ordered to relinquish it. Mr. Chetwode, he pre- 
sumed, did not want to eat his own hares, and might have 
been puzzled to account for his possession of them if ques- 
tioned by that inquisitive fellow Simpkins. As for Mark, 
he sat down again and pondered for a while. It need 
scarcely be said that he had no idea of allowing the formid- 
able weapon which had been placed in his hands to rust ; 
but there were more ways than one of striking with it, and 
he had to consider which of them would be the best to 
adopt. 


CHAPTER XXXIL 

THE SWORD FALLS. 

Mark was so far right in his forecast of the probable effect 
of solitude upon Madame Souravieff’s mood that she did 
in the course of the evening begin to feel incapable of 
passive submission to what she her-eelf had declared to be 
her inevitable fate. Naturally enough she was more in- 
censed against the innocent Cicely than against the faithless 
Mark. It was rather upon Cicely than upon Mark that 
she desired to be avenged, and of course nothing could be 
easier than to gratify such a desire to the full. All she had 
to do was to drive over to the Priory in the morning and 
make a more or less penitent confession of the plot upon 
which she had been engaged. That, it was true, would 
involve her in a certain amount of obloquy, and would 
likewise cut for ever the tie which still bound her to the 
man whom she loved. But what then ? ' As a pis alhr^ 


246 


MISADVENTURE. 


one may be content to perish, like Samson, amid the ruins 
which destroy one’s enemies. 

But these were only visions ; and even while she indulged 
in them she knew that she would never translate them into 
realities. After all, she loved the man ; and if nothing else 
can be said for her, it must be said that her love for him 
had always been unselfish. From the first her one wish 
had been that he should be rich, powerful and happy ; from 
the first she had recognized that, as matters stood, his 
happiness would hardly be made compatible with her own ! 
Was she to ruin him now because her heart w^as aching with 
an agony of jealousy for which it was still just possible that 
there might be no sufficient cause ? That last thought 
might have made her stay her hand if nothing else did. 
Illusions die very hard, and hope, according to the ancients, 
never dies at all. Madame Souravieff thought she knew 
Mark Chetwode. Being a man, he was, like other men 
capable of being fascinated by beauty ; but he was even 
less capable than other men of remaining constant to such 
fascinations. Granted that this girl had made a conquest 
of him with her pretty face, it did not follow that she would 
be able to retain what she had won. “(9;/ 7ie revient jamais 
a ses premia^cs amours j that malicious old count had 
written ; but the assertion, if true at all, was only true of 
the kind of love which pretty faces can excite ; it did not 
apply to attachments grounded upon something more per- 
manent than physical beauty. 

Madame Souravieff, it will be perceived, was somewhat 
hard put to it to find sources of consolation for herself ; 
still these, such as they were, sufficed in default of better 
ones to restrain her from the commission of a rash act cf 
revenge, and although, when the next morning came, she 
could not resist ordering the carriage and having herself 
driven to the Priory, it was with no hostile intentions that 
she set forth. Probably, if she could have fathomed her 
own motives, which is ahvays a difficult thing to do, she 
would have discovered that curiosity held the chief place 
amongst them. Did Cicely Bligh possess any attractions 
which could be accounted other than skin-deep ? Was she 
really in love with Mark or only out of patience with her 
cousin ? Would there be much trouble about moulding 
and directing her after her marriage? These were ques- 
tions to which Madame Souravieff was desirous of finding 


M/SA D VENTURE. 


247 


some answers, and doubtless she would have succeeded in 
doing so before long, had she not found Mark himself 
seated in the drawing-room at the Priory when she was 
admitted. That was a rather provoking circumstance ; 
still it was almost compensated for by the sight of his dis- 
mayed and interrogative face, and Madame Souravieff, who 
understood perfectly well what he was afraid of, was put 
into good humor when, she perceived how deeply his habit- 
ual calm had been disturbed. It gave her spirits the little 
fillip of which they stood in need ; she felt able to be 
brilliant, and certainly proved herself so. 

“ I have called at an inadmissible hour,” she began, 
“ but I am glad to see that somebody else lias taken the 
same liberty without the same excuse. l\Ir. Chetwode can’t 
plead, as I can, that this may be his last chance of seeing 
you.'. 

And when Cicely had expressed the surprise and regret 
which such an announcement appeared to call for she 
went on : — 

“ Oh, I don’t know for certain that I am going away ; 
my movements are almost always uncertain, I am sorry to 
say. But it is quite possible that I may vanish in the 
course of a day or two, and I didn’t want to vanish without 
wishing you good-bye.” 

She did not exjilain herself further, but began to talk in 
a very lively and amusing way about topics of general 
interest ; insomuch that Mark could not imagine what she 
would be at, and Cicely, who did not like her, was com- 
pelled, not for the first time, to acknowledge the charm of 
her manner. And so, when Miss Skipwith came into the 
room, and the luncheon bell was heard, there was nothing 
for it but to give an invitation which was promptly 
accepted. 

Archie joined the party in the dining-room. He looked 
dull and depressed, as indeed he generally did at this time, 
but Madame Souravieff soon made him talk. It was 
apropos of some remarks of hers about the German cavalry 
which were uttered for his benefit that Cicely said : — 

“ I suppose we may at least claim to have the best 
cavalry in the world. I should say we had the best army 
all round, only one isn’t allowed nowadays to assert that 
we surpass other nations in any single thing. I had a 
letter this morning from Jane Dare, who is at Wiesbaden, 


24S 


MISADVENTURE. 


and who draws most unpatriotic comparisons between 
British and German soldiers.” 

Oh, they are at Wiesbaden, then, your friends ! ” 
exclaimed Madame Souravieff, breaking into a peal of 
laughter, “ That accounts for it ! Now we know where 
the count gets his trustworthy information from. Did Mr. 
Chetwode tell you about my husband’s letters to me ? But 
of course he would not ; he is so discreet ! Personally I 
am indiscretion itself ; besides, it is unfair to defraud one’s 
neighbors of a joke in. this melancholy world. ‘ Would you 
believe that Count Souravieff has given me orders to leave 
this place instantly? And for such a reason 1 I came here, 
it seems, in order to be near Mr. Chetwode, of whom I am 
supposed to be much too fond. The count considers this 
scandalous ; and he knows that it is true, because he has 
been told of it upon excellent authority. And I, who 
thought that Sir George and Lady Dare were such nice, 
innocent, old people 1 ” 

She laughed heartily once more ; but nobody joined in 
her laughter, and only Mark looked amused. Miss Skip- 
with drew down the corners of her mouth and assumed an 
air of severity ; in her opinion the joke, if it was a joke, 
was one of very questionable taste. Archie frowned, and 
Cicely, not quite knowing what she was expected to say, 
held her peace. Madame Souraviefif’s attempt to relieve a 
portion of the melancholy of the world would certainly 
have fallen very flat if Mark had not hastened to respond. 
He, at least, had the advantage of knowing what he was 
expected to say, and he said it. Why such a candid state- 
ment of the circumstances had been made he did not know ; 
but it was evidently intended that he should deride the 
suspicions of the count — which thing he had no objection 
in the world to do. 

“ This comes of disregarding one’s intuitions,” he 
remarked, with a shrug of his shoulders. “ When I took 
lodgings in Abbotsport I felt sure that all the good people 
round about would be scandalized. They were certain to 
say that I could not tear myself away from the society of 
my tenant ; and the unfortunate part of it was that if they 
did say so they would not be very far wrong. As for 
Count Souravieff, he is like the absent — he is always 
wrong.” 

“ And almost always absent,” put in the count’s wife. 


MISADVENTURE. 


249 


However, I am not convinced that he would be more 
often in the right if he were present ; because he is not a 
very acute person. He might have been here the whole 
time and yet never discovered that it was not for my sake 
that Mr. Chetwode had taken up his abode above a grocer’s 
shop.” 

Madame Souravieff glanced at her hostess as she smiling- 
ly delivered this shot, and gathered from Cicely’s face that 
it had found its way home. Cicely was not in the least 
embarrassed ; but she was decidedly annoyed, and showed 
that she was so by changing the subject emphatically. 
Madame Souravieff’s whole tone was displeasing to hex ; 
nor did she altogether like Mark’s jocular treatment of 
what it would surely have been more becoming in him to 
resent as a gross calumny. 

As soon as luncheon was over Madame Souravieff took 
her leave. She had hoped for a short private conversation 
with Miss Bligh ; but it was very certain that Mark would 
remain where he was the whole afternoon rather than allow 
her that privilege, so she said that she would try to look in 
again before her departure. 

That is, if I do depart. Ought I to depart, do you 
think ! Mr. Chetwode refuses to give me any advice.” 

“ Only because I am not a disinterested adviser,” put in 
Mark. How can an impoverished landlord who is 
threatened with the loss of his tenant be disinterested ? ” 

“ Oh, if you think that I had better stand my ground, 
pray don’t let a mistaken feeling of delicacy prevent you 
from saying so,” returned Madame Souravieff, with a mock- 
ing glance at him. 

Then, as he did not reply, and as Cicely obstinately 
contemplated the carpet, she said good-bye to everybody, 
reminded Archie that he had promised to dine with her 
that evening and made a graceful exit. 

Cicely, as has been said, was not best pleased either 
with Madame Souravieff or with Mark ; and this, perhaps, 
may have made her feel more kindly disposed towards 
Archie than she had done of late. 

“ What are you going to do this afternoon? ” she asked 
him. ‘‘ Would you like to come for a ride with me? ” 

It was a long time since she had made any such sugges- 
tion to him, and there was something pathetic in the 
eagerness with which the. young fellow jumped at it, 


250 


MISADVENTURE. 


“ Of course I should,” he answered. “ When shall we 
start?” 

Mark could do no less than get up and say that he must 
be going ; nor could Cicely very well do less than offer 
him a mount, if he cared to acccompany her and her cousin. 
This offer, however, he declined, upon the plea that he was 
not dressed for riding ; so she shook hands with him and 
left the room, saying that she would go and put on her 
habit. 

As soon as she was gone, Mark asked Archie whether 
he was inclined to smoke a cigarette in the garden while 
Miss Bligh was getting ready. 

rather want to speak to you, if you can spare me a 
few minutes,” he added. 

So poor Archie went with a light heart to hear his doom. 
Tradition does not say whether the suspended sword ever 
fell upon the neck of the startled Damocles ; but if he had 
nerve enough to finish his dinner, the chances are that he 
recovered his equanimity before rising from the table. 
Archie Bligh had of late grown accustomed to his scarcely 
more enviable position. The consciousness of the dread- 
ful secret which must always exist between him and Cicely 
still weighed upon him, it is true ; but he had almost 
ceased to dread detection, and he had no foreboding of 
what was coming when his companion said, in a grave 
voice : — 

‘‘ I heard something last night, Bligh, which I was very 
sorry to hear. I thought I ought to lose no time in telling 
you about it.” 

“ People are always coming to tell me about unpleasant 
things,” remarked Archie, with a slight laugh. “ I can’t 
make them understand that this property doesn’t belong to 
me, and that I have no power to punish evil-doers or 
check abuses.” 

“ What I was told last night did not refer to the pro- 
perty,” answered Mark ; “ it referred to you. My first 
impulse was to keep what I had been told to myself ; but 
I doubt whether I should serve you much by doing that, 
even if I could feel it to be justifiable ; because my infor- 
mant was a man whom you have unfortunately offended, 
and probably he is not at all to be relied upon. You know 
the old proverb : ‘ Murder will out ! ’ It seems to be as 
true as most proverbs, and truer than some.” 


MrSADVEKrURR. 


251 


Archie had turned deadly white. 

“What in the world are you talking about?” he man- 
aged to gasp out. 

“ I should think you can guess. To make a long story 
short, that old fisherman Coppard was an eye-witness of it 
all. He was in my woods — poaching, I suppose — and he 
saw you throw your cousin over the cliff. What more is 
there to be said? It would be absurd to attempt to con- 
sole you or to pretend that your life, so far as this place is 
concerned, is not at an end. All I can do is to advise you 
to escape while there is still time.” 

“ But you are wrong ! ” exclaimed Archie ; “ what hap- 
pened was not at all what you suppose. I never threw 
Morton over the cliff, it was he who tried to throw me 
over — in fact, he actually did push me over — and it was 
only in struggling to recover myself that I dragged him to 
the ground. Of course he was drunk. I don’t know that 
he would have tried to murder me in cold blood ; but he 
certainly did try then, and as nearly as possible succeeded. 
As for me, I didn’t even know that he had fallen for a 
minute or two, and I don’t know now how it occurred. 
That old villain Coppard may say what it suits him to say ; 
but surely you must know that I am not a murderer ! ” 

“ I don’t doubt your word for a single moment, my 
dear fellow,” answered Mark compassionately ; “ but it 
would be no kindness to you to assert that others will not 
doubt it. How could you be so foolish as to run away ? ” 
I don’t know,” groaned Archie. “ It was foolish, I 
dare say ; but I thought, just as you say, that there would 
be people who would doubt my word, and I couldn’t bring 
Morton to life again, and I had no time to think things 
over coolly. Anyhow, I won’t run away again. If I’m to 
be tried for my life I shall tell the truth, and if my story 
isn’t believed I shall be hanged, I suppose. Death won’t 
be very much worse than what I have been suffering all 
this summer.” 

“ There are some other considerations which will occur 
to you when you have had more leisure for rellection,” 
observed Mark, after remaining silent for a few seconds. 
“ If I can be of any assistance to you — and I think that 
])erhaps I can — I shall be very glad. I heard Madame 
Souravieff say that you Avere dining with her to-night; 
won’t you come in and see me afterwards ? Then we can 


252 


MISADVENTURE. 


talk matters over and decide what is best to be done. 
Now you will have to go out for your ride, and you must 
try to look and speak as usual.” 

“ That is utterly impossible ! ” exclaimed Archie, des- 
pairingly, “ Look here, Chetwode, you must make some 
excuse for me to Cicely. Say anything you like j but I 
can’t see her now. I’ll turn up at your place this evening ; 
though I don’t know what you or anybody else can do for 
me.” 

He turned away as he spoke, hurried down one of the 
slirubberies and was soon out of sight. 

Mark entered the house with a grave and preoccupied 
mien, which he did not discard when Cicely, in her riding- 
habit, met him at the foot of the staircase. 

“ I have come back to bring you a thousand apologies 
from your cousin. Miss Bligh,” said he. He remembered 
that he had some appointment or engagement — I didn’t 
exactly gather what it was — and he couldn’t stop to offer 
his excuses in person.” 

Cicely’s eyes grew large and angry. She not unnaturally 
suspected that Madame Souravieff had something to do 
with this appointment or engagement, and she felt pretty 
sure that Mark suspected the same thing. 

“ Oh, very well,” she answered ; “ I will tell them that 
we don’t want the horses, then.” 

She knew that it would be unwise and undignified to say 
anything more ; but Mark’s serious and compassionate gaze 
so provoked her that she could not resist adding : — 

“ You really need not look so sorry for me ; the disap- 
pointment is not an overwhelming one.” 

“ Was I looking sorry ? ” asked Mark, apparently rous- 
ing himself from a fit of abstraction. “ If I was, I sup])ose 
it was because I was thinking of him, not of you. He is 
very much to be pitied.” 

The remark was an astute one, because it could be made 
to apply to various future and as yet uncertain contingen- 
cies ; but Cicely, of course, interpreted it as he had 
intended her to do. 

Do you mean because Madame Souravieff is going 
away ? ” she asked, tranquilly. “ Yes, I am afraid he will 
miss her a good deal if .she does go ; but perhaps she won’t. 
She didn’t deprive us of all hope,” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


253 


CHAPTER XXXm. 

A COMPETENT ADVISER. 

Archie hastened away, without noticing or caring whither 
he went. He passed through the shrubberies, crossed a 
corner of the park, and at length reached a summer-house 
commanding a view of Abbotsport and the bay, which had 
been erected in the days when summer-houses were the 
fashion, but which was now given over to spiders and ear- 
wigs. Here he sat down and tried to think. The first 
question he asked himself was whether his position was 
really as desperate as Mark Chetwode had made it out. 
Coppard, no doubt, was corruptible ; Coppard would 
hardly have held his peace so long had he not expect- 
ed to derive pecuniary advantage from silence. There 
was that possibility ; and there was, besides, the hope that 
Cicely, when the truth should be revealed to her, would 
understand and accept it. Surely she would take the word 
of a gentleman rather than that of a notorious vagabond ; 
surely, too, she would see the absurdity of imagining that 
her cousin had deliberately compassed her brother’s death. 
Nevertheless, Archie could not flatter himself that either 
of these alternatives was likely to save him. From the 
payment of black-mail he shrank, having sense enough to 
be aware that that would be tantamount to an admission 
of guilt, and would probably result in nothing better than 
the putting off of the evil day ; while as for making a tardy 
confession to Cicely, he could' not but perceive that his 
own folly had rendered such a course useless. She might 
accept his word, but she would not pardon his cowardice, 
nor would she consent to become his wife. He felt so sure 
of this that he dismissed the idea of confession from his 
mind almost immediately. What, then, remained? No- 
thing, that he could see, except to await the course of 
events passively. Even if he cared about saving his neck, 
it would be scarcely worth while to have recourse to flight ; 
for suspected murderers can be arrested anywhere and 


254 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


everywhere in these days. Moreover, he had no great fear 
of being hanged. Hanging is not a dignified method ol 
making one’s exit from the world, but if he were to lose 
Cicely he would lose everything, and his life might as well 
end with his hopes. 

That is the kind/)f thing which is often said and seldom 
or never meant. At Archie’s age the physical clinging to 
life which we all have in a greater or less degree is very 
strong, and it is not likely that he would have surrendered 
himself to the police without making a dash for escape. 
That the very best thing that he could do, under the cir- 
cumstances, was to surrender himself to the police was an 
aspect of the case which did not present itself to him. His 
one longing was to retain such love as Cicely had been 
able to give him, and that longing seemed hopeless 
enough. Your life, so far as this place is concerned, is 
at an end,” Mark had told him. The words rang in his 
ears like a sentence from which there was no appeal. 

He sat for a very long time where he was, and had 
arrived at no decision when at length he rose and wander- 
ed down towards Abbotsport. Chetwode, who had spoken 
of giving him assistance, might possibly be able to advise 
him, he thought. Chetwode was clever and cool-headed, 
and seemed disposed to be friendly. The lack of self- 
reliance which was the poor fellow’s worst failing inclined 
him to clutch at any hand held out to him, and if he had 
sometimes been a little jealous of Mark, that was a petty 
sentiment which had been dispelled by far more powerful 
emotions. At all events, it was essential that he should 
consult with Mark, since he was in Mark’s power, and he 
was fully prepared to be guided by so impartial a coun- 
sellor. Remembering, however, that he would not be 
expected before evening, he did not proceed straight to 
Mr. Simpkins’, but strayed for some little distance along 
the beach, and then, throwing himself down under an 
overhanging rock, apathetically watched the ebbing tide 
until long after sunset. 

Late as he supposed it to be when he reached Mark’s 
temporary abode, his arrival seemed early to that gentle- 
man, who was finishing his dinner, and who greeted him 
with a surprised exclamation of ; — 

“Already! You must have cut Madame Souravieff’s 
hospitality very short. But, my dear fellow, you are not 
dressed. Haven’t you kept your engagement at all } ” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


255 


‘‘ I forgot it/’ answered Archie ; “ and I shouldn’t have 
gone if I had remembered it. I haven’t been home since 
I saw you.” 

“Do you mean to say that you have had no dinner? 
Well, I can’t offer you very tempting fare, but such as it is, 
it is at your service. One must eat, you know, whatever 
happens.” 

“Thank you, but I am not hungry,” replied Archie 
shortly. 

“That has nothing to say to the question. You will 
have to use your brains to-night, and you cannot do that 
if your body is in a state of collapse. You must try to 
manage a mutton chop and a glass or two of champagne.” 
And Mark got up and rang the bell. 

Archie yielded, not thinking it worth while to dispute 
about trifles. As a matter of fact, he did want food, and 
felt better after it, though scarcely more cheerful. When 
he had finished, his host, who until then had refused to 
enter upon any discussion, said : — 

“ Now let us endeavor to be as sane and reasonable as 
we can. Have you thought at all this afternoon about 
what is to become of you ? ” 

“ I have been thinking about nothing else,” answered 
Archie ; “ but thinking doesn’t seem to mend matters 
much. I suppose what will become of me will be that I 
shall be tried for murder.” 

“ Oh, I think not. The case, you see, stands thus : — • 
There is one witness who is prepared to swear that he saw 
a struggle between you and your cousin which ended in 
the way that we know of ; he certainly couldn’t swear that 
you provoked the struggle, or that you meant it to end in 
that way. The unlucky circumstance, of course, is your 
having concealed what occurred ; but there is no help for 
that now. Well, it so happens that that witness is to some 
extent in my power. Apparently he does not love you ; 
but he has a dog-like sort of attachment for Miss Bligh, 
and altogether I am inclined to think that his silence might 
be secured. That is if he knew that you had left the place 
never to return.” 

“ But why should that be a necessary condition ? ” asked 
Archie eagerly. 

“I am afraid he would consider it so; these half- 
educated people are always obstinate. You must remem 


256 


MISADVENTURE. 


ber that he really believes you intended to kill Morton, 
and his belief would hardly be shaken by your denial.” 

“ Then why didn’t he say so before ? ” 

“Because he wouldn’t do anything that might cause un- 
happiness to Miss Bligh. He thought at first that it would 
make her happy to marry you j now he has changed his 
mind, and thinks, rightly or wrongly, that it would not. It 
isn’t quite a case for bribery, you see ; though I don’t say 
that a bribe would be refused.” 

This chimed in well enough with what Archie recollected 
to have heard from Coppard’s own lips'; yet he could not 
think that he must submit to ruin and shipwreck because 
a drunken old fisherman disapproved of his marriage. 
“ Of course,” said he, “ I would make it worth Coppard’s 
while to hold his tongue. And don’t you think that, if I 
had a talk with him, I could get him to understand that he 
is mistaken about Cicely?” 

Mark did not reply, but shook his head and, taking his 
chin between his finger and thumb, looked gravely down 
at the -carpet. 

“ I know what he means,” Archie went on. “ Cicely 
and I didn’t agree as to his paying up the arrears of his 
rent, and there was one or two other points connected with 
the property about which we were not quite of one mind 
and which he may have heard of. But that isn’t to say 
that there has been any real dispute between us. You can 
assure him of that, I should think, if he won’t believe 
me.” 

“ I fear that he wouldn’t be convinced,” answered Mark. 
“ And even if he were ! The truth is, my dear Bligh, that 
although I am very anxious to serve you to the best of 
my ability, I am still more anxious to spare your cousin, 
and it is for her sake quite as much as for yours that I want 
you to leave Abbotsport. I am afraid you haven’t yet real- 
ized that under no circumstances could you become her 
husband now. I tell you frankly that, if nobody else stepped 
in to stop your marriage, I should feel bound to do so. 
One can’t allow any woman to marry in ignorance a man 
who has killed her brother; though he may have, done it, 
as I have no doubt that you did, in mere self-defence. I 
am quite sure that if you were situated as I am, you would 
look at the matter just as I do.” 

Unhappily this was only too true ; and the faint spark 


MISAD VENTURE, 


257 


of hope which had been kindled in Archie’s heart died 
away. 

“You are right,” he said, in a low voice. “If I had 
made a clean breast of it at the time, it might have been 
different ; but it is too late now. All that I can do for her 
is to save her from the humiliation of ever hearing the 
truth. If only I could do that without running away ! 
She will think I have deserted her.” 

“ Yes,” agreed Mark ; “ that is what she will think. It 
is best that she should think so.” He added after a 
moment (and probably he was quite sincere), “ I never 
felt more sorry for any man in my life than I do for you, 
Bligh ; but I can^ilpggest nothing except flight to you; 
there is nothing ^e for it. Perhaps it sounds heartless 
to say so ; nevertheless it is true that you are young 
enough to begin a fresh career elsewhere.” 

“ That will be so easy, wont it? ” returned Archie with 
a bitter laugh. “ All one has to do is to forget everything 
and everybody. I suppose you mean that I had better 
settle in Australia under a feigned name? ” 

“ I don’t see why you should change your name. You 
might settle in Australia, if you thought that desirable, but 
when I was thinking to-day what I could do for you it 
struck me that you might prefer the chance of a little 
active service in Europe. I think I could very likely pro- 
cure that chance for you.” 

Archie pricked up his 4ars. 

“ I wish you. would ! ” he exclaimed. “ It is just the one 
thing — the only thing— ^at I should care to live for.” 

“ So I imagined, I can’t make any promise, be- 

cause it is very doubtful whether war will break out this 
year ; but I can bring you into relations with people who 
will be only too glad to avail themselves of your services 
at the first opportunity. These people are conspirators. 
I don’t know whether you object to that.” 

“ Why the deuce should I object ? ” returned Archie. 
“ All I ask for is a pretty good hope of getting shot. I’m 
willing to conspire against anybody, except the Queen.” 

Mark smiled. 

“You will be asked to conspire against the so-called 
Prince of Bulgaria,” he said, “ or at least to help in car- 
rying out the designs of those who are conspiring against 
him. He is not a ver)^ interesting personage ; he has no 

9 


258 


MISADVENTURE. 


sort of business to be where he is, and I am assured that 
the majority of his people would be glad to be rid of him. 
However that may be, his dethronement would be pro- 
bably followed by a Russian occupation, and then the fire 
would be started. If fighting is what you want, you would 
be likely to get plenty of it, supposing that you could be 
at' Sofia in a quasi-military capacity at the right moment. 
Only you will have to swear blind obedience to your em- 
ployers ; otherwise they will have nothing to do with you. 

I myself have done the same thing ; and if they call upon 
me I shall have to go, little as I care about such matters 
nowadays.’’ 

“ What do you mean by blind obedience ? ” inquired 
Archie. “ 1 suppose they won’t order me to assassinate 
anybody, will they ? ” 

“Upon my word I don’t know,” answered Mark; “I 
made very few inquiries when I took my oath of allegiance. 
I believe that one is bound to carry out any order that 
one may receive ; but I presume that, in selecting assas- 
sins, they generally make choice of some otherwise useless 
person. You, as an ex-cavalry officer, would not be at all 
useless, and it seems unlikely that they would waste you 
in that manner. I wouldn’t answer for them, though, and 
I am sure that they would have no scruple about putting 
an end to any person whom they wanted out of the way.” 

Archie was silent for a few minutes. The offer tendered 
to him was scarcely a seductive one, yet it bore enough of 
the character of a forlorn hope to fascinate him in his 
present desperate state. 

“ If I agree, should I be sent straight out to Bulgaria ? ” 
he asked presently. 

“No; I think you would have to go first to Athens, 
and then either to Solonica or Constantinople; but you 
will understand that I am not at liberty to give you any 
particulars until you become one of us. You would 
receive your instructions in London.” 

“ Well, I’ll chance it,” said Archie, with a sigh. “ When 
ought I to start? ” 

“ If you ask me, I should recommend you to start early 
to-morrow morning. Not that things are ripe in the East 
— for I believe they are not — -but because, if I were you, 
I wouldn’t see Miss Bligh again. I don’t think you could 
very well see her without betraying yourself, and I know 
that, for her sake, you wouldn’t wish to do that.” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


259 


“ But do you mean to say that you would simply bolt, 
without packing up your things or saying a word to any- 
body, and never be heard of again ? ” 

“ No ; I should pack up everything that I wanted and 
start by the first train, leaving a message to say that I had 
been called away suddenly and would write from London.” 

“ And would you write from London ? ” 

“Yes — a few lines. You will have to tell your cousin 
that she is released from her engagement, and that, for 
reasons which you cannot' explain, you are about to quit 
the country. It won’t be a pleasant letter to write, but 
you can make it a short one. The shorter the better.” 

Mark’s quiet, uncompromising way of stating the case 
did not fail to impress the weaker man, who, after that, 
accepted the instructions given to him without resistance 
or demur. He W'as told where he was to go and what he 
was to do on reacliing London ; he was cautioned against 
seeing anybody except the servants when he returned to 
the Priory ; he was even advised as to the terms in which 
he should let the servants know that he would require a 
dog-cart to take him to the, station in the morning. It all 
sounded very sensible and practical, and Chetwode, if not 
particularly sympathetic, was doubtless doing the best in 
his power to befriend one who could not benefit much by 
any friendly offices. He sat with Mark until the night 
was far advanced, so as to give Cicely and Miss Skipwith 
plenty of time to retire to bed ; he heard a good deal 
about the state, of feeling in the Danubian Principalities, 
and gathered that, although his companion was no enthu- 
siastic believer in Panslavism, the adherents of that cause 
were numerous and powerful enough to disturb the i)eace 
of Europe. 

“ At least,” Mark said in conclusion, “ I can promise 
you that there will be a big fight some day, and all the 
information that I have had points to its taking place soon. 
How it is to be begun I don’t know ; but in all probability 
a rising or mutiny in Bulgaria will be the first step. Now 
I will wish you good-bye, Bligh, and if you won’t think I 
mean to be ironical, I will wish you good luck, too. We 
may meet again under more exciting circumstances — who 
knows ? But if we don’t, you may at any rate trust me to 
keep your secret.” 

Archie thanked him, without any mental reservation, 


26 o 


M/s A D VENTURE, 


and went away. He was too wretched and down-hearted 
to suspect treachery : nor did he see how Chetwode could 
have acted otherwise than as he had done. For his own 
part, a stray bullet was all that he asked of Fortune, and 
that modest aspiration was pretty sure to be fulfilled, he 
thought. No hitch occurred in the programme which had 
been sketched out for him. It was between twelve and 
one o’clock when he arrived at the Priory and gave the 
requisite order to a sleepy footman. During the night he 
packed up a few of his belongings and slept a little, and 
long before Cicely was stirring the next day he had taken 
his last farewell of her and of home. 

It may be that he had capitulated too readily ; but no 
one can give himself qualities which are foreign to his 
nature. All his life long Archie had been subject to the 
influence of those into whose companionship he had been 
thrown, and it would be as absurd to blame him for taking 
Mark Chetwode’s advice as to blame a blind man for 
allowing himself to be led into a ditch. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MAR K’S OPPORTUNITY. 

That Providence ever intervenes in human affairs was a 
doctrine which Mark Chetwode held to be a mere super- 
stition \ for he considered that all evidence and experience 
go to prove the contrary. Since, however, most people 
find it necessary to believe that their destinies are ruled by 
somebody or something beyond their control, he, who had 
at one period of his life been a great gambler, had learnt 
to believe firmly in runs of good and ill luck. Of the 
former he had hitherto had very much less than his fair 
share ; but now the tide seemed to have turned, and it 
behoved him to take full advantage of it before the ebb 
should set in orce more. On the morning after his long 
interview with Archie Bligh he was able to tell himself 
that he had not been remiss in this plain duty ; nor was 
his self-approval disturbed by any pangs of conscience. 
Good luck for one man very often, if not always, implies 
bad luck for another. This is to be regretted ; still it is 


M/s A D VENTURE, 


261 


not the fault of the lucky one that the nahire of things is 
what it is, and Mark had really done all he could to facili- 
tate the retreat of his discomfited rival. Even had he 
had no personal interest in the matter, it would have been 
out of the question to let Archie marry the sister of the 
man whose death he had caused. 

It now remained to deal with Madame Souravieff, who 
was still formidable, or at any rate might become so when 
she pleased. . For more reasons than one Mark was now 
extremely anxious that she should leave the neighbor- 
hood ; but he doubted whether she would do that, and of 
course it would be fatal to let her guess his wishes. Upon 
the whole, it seemed advisable to walk up to Upton Chet- 
wode and try to find out which way the wind blew. 
Accordingly, he set out as soon as he had finished his break- 
fast, stopping at the post-office to despatch a telegram 
which puzzled and vexed the young woman to whom he 
handed it. Why should people want to send telegrams 
which, read forwards or backwards or in any other way 
that ingenuity can suggest, form nothing but sheer non- 
sense ? That sort of thing shows a nasty secretive dis- 
position, and justifies the suspicion that those who resort 
to it are no better than they should be. 

But Mark, having thus prepared a fitting reception in 
London for Archie, went cheerfully on his way, without 
any pity for bafflccL local curiosity, and presently whom 
should he meet but Mr. Coppard, going about his daily 
avocations, which were various, and at this time consisted 
in the hawking of fish upon a barrow. Coppard touched 
his cap, when beckoned to, and said, with an air of much 
innocence, that he supposed Mr. Chetwode didn’t happen 
to want a beautiful fresh turbot. 

Mr. Chetwode did not happen to be in want of such a 
thing, but he wanted Coppard to be so good as to give 
him his attention for a few minutes, if he was not in a 
hurry. 

“ My time is yours, sir,” replied Coppard urbanely. 

Well,” said Mark, ‘‘ I won’t detain you long ; but I 
think you had better be told that young Mr. Bligh left for 
London this morning, and that he will probably never 
return. It seemed to me best to let him know what I 
had heard from you, and, finding that your story was sub- 
stantially accurate, I was compelled to insist upon his 


262 


MISAD VENTURE, 


releasing Miss Bligh from her engagement. This he has 
done, or will do ; so that the matter may now very well 
be allowed to rest. Understand this, however; you will 
get no hush-money either from him or from me, and ” 

“ Sir,” interrupted Coppard, drawing himself up, “ I 
haven’t asked for such, nor yet don’t mean to do. If I’d 
ha’ wanted to be bought hoff, ’twould ha’ been easy for me 
to go to the young gentleman afore now. ’Twas for Miss 
Cicely’s sake as I kep’ quiet, and ’twas fqr Miss Cicely’s 
sake as I told you what I did.” 

“ Oh, I thought it was because you were afraid of being 
sent to prison. But never mind. Whatever your reasons 
for speaking may have been, I think I can give you quite 
as good a one for not speaking again ; namely, that you 
may put yourself in a most uncomfortable predicament if 
you do. Do you know what an accessory after the fact is ? 
I was not sure myself until last night, when I looked him 
up in a law-book and found that he is one who, having 
cognizance of the commission of a felony, ‘ receives, 
relieves, comforts or assists ’ the felon — in other words, 
who helps him to evade justice. And do you know, Mr. 
Coppard, that in murder cases accessories after the fact 
may be punished by penal servitude for life ? ” 

Coppard quaked visibly. He did not know much about 
the laws of his country, but such personal experience as he 
had had of their operation had not been reassuring. 

“ You wouldn’t never go for to do it, sir ! ” he exclaimed. 
“You wouldn’t be the ruin of a man as done you no 
hinjury, without it was them leverets, which you’ll allow as 
I give you information amountin’ to up’ards o’ their value, 
sir.” 

“ Oh, I shall not ruin you, of course,” answered Mark ; 
“ I only thought it right to caution you against ruining 
yourself. Good-morning.” 

That seemed to dispose pretty satisfactorily of Coppard ; 
but a much less off-hand method of treatment was required 
for the next person whose discretion had, if possible, to be 
secured, and when Mark was shown into the presence of 
Madame Souravieff he had assumed a worried and anxious 
air which that lady not unnaturally misinterpreted. 

“ Oh, no, I haven’t,” said she, laughing, in answer to 
what she imagined to be his unuttered question. “ It wasn’t 
for that purpose that I went to see Miss Bligh yesterday, 


MISADVEA'TURE. 


263 


and your sitting me out was quite unnecessary. It would 
have been unnecessary in any case ; because you must 
surely see that if I wanted to stab you in the back you 
couldn’t possibly prevent me,” 

Mark made a slight gesture expressive of patient resigna- 
tion. 

“ Is it,” he asked, “ very bad taste to remind you that I 
undertook this business at your suggestion and with a good 
deal of reluctance ? I suppose you must have wanted me 
to succeed when there was so little probability of my suc- 
ceeding, and now that success seems to be within my reach 
you apparently want me to fail. It is unfortunate ; because 
I can hardly draw back with credit after going so far. 
Still, if you wish me to draw back, pray say so. Now, as 
always, I am at your orders.” 

“ I have' no orders to give you,” Madame Souravieff 
declared ; “ there are certain things which cannot be 
ordered. I don’t think I shall give you any more assist- 
ance, though. You seem quite able to stand alone now, 
and I confe'ss that the plaints of the lover who is going to 
be jilted have become unspeakably wearisome to me. 
That reminds me that I kept dinner waiting nearly an 
hour for him last night and that he neither appeared nor 
sent an excuse. Do you think that such conduct would 
justify me in dropping his acquaintance? ” 

“Perhaps it would,” answered Mark; “but I doubt 
whether you will be troubled with him again so long as you 
are at Abbotsport. Last night he came, in a great state of 
agitation and excitement, to tell me that he had made up 
his mind to leave the place ; and I presume that he has 
already gone.” 

“ To leave the place ! ” echoed Mada'me Souravieff, 
opening her eyes. “ Does that mean that he admits his 
defeat, and throws over his cousin to save himself from 
being thrown over ? I should never have supposed that 
he had so much spirit in him.” 

“ Possibly he is more despairing than spirited,” said 
Mark ; possibly also he is more willing to throw his 
cousin over now than he was a short time ago. But I 
daresay you know more about that than I do.” 

The insinuation was not lost upon Madame Souravieff, 
nor was it altogether displeasing to her. 

“ Nonsense ! ” she returned, laughing, He looks 


264 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


upon me as a middle-aged woman — and the worst of it is 
that he is right, because that is just what I am. Well, I 
congratulate you ; you have nothing to do now but to step 
into the place which he has been so obliging as to vacate.” 

Mark looked doubtful. 

“You think so?” said he. “I am not sure that he 
wouldn’t have done me a greater service by remaining in 
his place rather longer. However, he has seen fit to take 
to his heels, and as he did not honor me by expressing the 
slightest fear of my becoming his successor, I can only 
assume that the succession question doesn’t interest him as 
much as it ought. That of itself is an excellent reason for 
Miss Bligh’s beginning to find him interesting.” 

“ No,” answered Madame Souravietf decisively. “She 
will be very angry with him, but she certainly will not 
regret him ; and after a time she will be glad that he took 
matters into his own hands, instead of forcing her to speak 
first. I had almost decided to go away to-morrow, but now 
I think I will wait a few days longer and see what 
happens.” 

“ Oh, a few days ! Nothing will happen in a few days.” 

“ Well, if nothing happens, I might even linger a few 
weeks. Probably I shall be able to temporize with Boris 
for that length of time.” 

“ I sincerely hope you will,” answered Mark, who sin- 
cerely hoped the contrary. 

It was impossible to suggest any motive for departure to 
Madame Souravieff ; and, that being so, he wisely took the 
line of imploring her not to desert him. He was an 
admirable actor, and although his acting did not entirely 
deceive her, it confirmed that forlorn hope of hers that his 
fancy for the English girl would pass away and leave him 
in what, after all, was perhaps his normal condition. Their 
conversation insensibly became more friendly and less 
circumspect; each of them grew less defiant of the other ; 
and before their interview closed they had reached the 
point of discussing what was to be done with the revenues 
of the Bligh estates. 

Meanwhile Cicely had received with no small astonish- 
ment the news of her cousin’s departure and his somewhat 
curt message to the effect that he would write to her from 
London. But for his strange behavior in absenting himself 
on the previous afternoon, she would perhaps have believed 


MISADVENTURE. 


265 


that he had been called away upon some matter of busi- 
ness and would have thought no more about it ; as it was 
she could not avoid the conviction that Madame Souravieff 
was answerable for all this. Pending an explanation, she 
held her judgment in suspense ; that is to say that, although 
highly incensed, she abstained throughout a rather long 
day from formulating the suspicions which were in Iter 
mind, and snubbed Miss Skipwith without mercy when 
that lady took the liberty of saying that Archie’s conduct 
amounted to nothing short of an outrage. But on the 
following morning the post brought her a letter so extraor- 
dinary, and at the same time so unequivocal, that she had 
to read it over three times before she could believe 
the evidence of her own senses. It was in these terms ' 
(and without giving any address) that Archie had thought 
fit to take leave of the girl whom he loved ; — 

“ My Dear Cicely, 

“ I don’t know how to write to you, but it matters very 
little what I say or don’t say. You won’t understand, and 
I can never tell you, why I must give you up. But so it is. 
You are free from this moment. I am going to leave 
England, and I daresay you will never even hear of me 
again. The only consolation I have is that I know this 
will not make you nearly as miserable as it makes me. 
You told me from the first that you did not love me, but 
perhaps I hardly understdod what you meant at the time. 
Latterly I have understood better, and I have sometimes 
doubted whether I could have made you happy — though I 
should have tried. There are a great many more things 
that I should like to write ; but I dare not write them, lest 
you should think that I am not in earnest about what I 
have written already. If you set me down as a madman 
or a scoundrel, it must be so — I can’t help it. All I ask 
you to believe is that I shouldn’t have taken this step if 
there had been any possibility of avoiding it. Good-bye, 
Cicely, and God bless you ! 

Ever your loving cousin, 

“ Archie Bligh.” 

The poor fellow had taken a good deal of trouble over 
this most unfortunately-worded missive. Debarred as he 
was from even hinting at the true cause of his flight, he 


266 


M/SAD VENTUJ^B. 


had despaired of making out anything approaching to a 
case for himself, and had felt that the only use of his writ- 
ing to Cicely at all was to convince her how irrevocable 
was his renunciation of her. He had thought of half a 
dozen improbable ways in which she might account for that 
renunciation, but it had not occurred to him that she would 
adopt so preposterous a theory as that which any man or 
woman dwelling wiffiin five miles of Abbotsport could have 
told him that she was sure to adopt. To Cicely his letter 
appeared to afford absolutely conclusive proof of the 
soundness of that theory, and it must be confessed that it 
made her quite as angry as Madame Souravieff had antici- 
pated that it would. Anger was, indeed, the only emotion, 
except astonishment, to which she was moved by it. She 
neither believed that Archie was “ miserable ” — that was 
the sort of assertion that he was bound to make under 
such circumstances — nor felt any pity for one who, as she 
supposed, had been entrapped by a designing and unscru- 
pulous woman. To some extent he might have been a 
victim, but it was evident that he. had not been a very 
unwilling one. 

And now it was necessary to face the distasteful duty of 
announcing that she had been jilted to her relations and 
friends, beginning with Miss Skipwith. This, like other 
distasteful duties, did not gain in attractiveness by being 
contemplated ; so that Cicely determined to take the first 
plunge without further delay. She marched straight into 
the little morning-room, where Miss Skipwith was generally 
to be found, busily engaged in doing nothing, and said : — 

“ Aunt Susan, I have come to tell you that my engage- 
ment is at an end. I have just had a letter from Archie, 
who says that for some time past he has doubted whether 
we could have been happy together ; and as I myself have 
felt the same doubt, it is certainly better that we should 
part. He thinks of going abroad ; so that I hope there 
will not be much awkwardness or discomfort about it.” 

Miss Skipwith" was overjoyed; but at the same time she 
felt that it would be contrary to all tradition and propriety 
to let so serious a matter as the rupture of ‘an engagement 
pass without some show of consternation. She therefore 
threw up her hands and ejaculated : — 

“ Oh, my dear child, how very dreadful ! ” 

“ It may be,” answered Cicely, calmly, ‘‘ but I doubt 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


267 

whether you think so, Aunt Susan. You never liked the 
engagement, you know, and you wished me to break it 
off." 

“ Yes, my dear, but I never expressed a wish that he 
should break it off ; that is a very different thing. I must 
say that his behavior is altogether inexplicable to me. 
What ca7i have been his motive ? ” 

“ Oh, the usual and quite sufficient one — incompatibility 
of temper," answered Cicely. “We have found out our 
mistake in time : let us be thankful for that and say no 
more about it." 

And she refused to make any response to the questions 
and surmises of her aunt, who thought her rather hard and 
unfeeling. 

The truth of the matter was that the girl was beginning 
to feel very sore. She had loved Archie in one sense, if 
not in another ; she had firmly believed in his love for her ; 
and to be rejected is agreeable to nobody. But it was 
impossible to open her heart to her aunt, who would never 
understand her, so presently she slipped out of the house 
and, sittii^ down in a shady corner of the garden, felt 
miserably sad and lonely. All her life she had been more 
lonely than most girls ; though she had scarcely been 
aware of the fact. While her father had lived she had had 
a friend who was always kind, always sympathetic and 
able to enter into all her joys and sorrows without saying 
much about them, but now he had been taken from her 
and there was nobody — absolutely nobody — left. The 
most self-reliant of mortals must feel the need of companion- 
ship sometimes, and Cicely felt it bitterly now. The stars 
in their courses were fighting for Mark Chetwode, who 
was well enough acquainted with the weaknesses and 
necessities of human nature to know that his opportunity 
was at hand. 


268 


MISADVENTURE, 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

SYMPATHY. 

The nineteenth century has its drawbacks ; but it also 
has its conspicuous advantages, amongst which ought surely 
to be numbered the almost universal use of tobacco. How 
in the world did our ancestors manage to get on without 
it ? How do women manage to get through life and 
preserve their serenity (but, to be sure, they don’t always) 
without it now? For reasons which must be obvious to 
everybody, one hesitates to advocate the adoption of 
smoking among young and pretty women ; yet it seems 
certain that upon them no less than upon us nicotine 
would exercise a beneficent influence as a sedative to the 
nerves and an incentive to broad and philosophic views of 
the accidents of existence. If Cicely’s meditations in the 
garden had been accompanied and soothed by a cigarette, 
she would perhaps have recognized that it is human to be 
inconstant ; that loves and friendships come and go as the 
sun rises and sets and the years pass on ; that very little 
of what happens to us is of any consequence \ that it is 
hardly worth while to be angry with anybody for being 
what nature made him, and other facts equally indisputable 
and consolatory. But either because she was denied the 
blessing conferred upon mankind by Sir Walter Raleigh, 
or by reason of her youth, or on account of some inherent 
defect in her individuality, she was unable to resign herself 
witli a shrug of her shoulders to the state of things in the 
/ present and the prospect of the future. Both struck her as 
eminently discouraging, dispiriting and of a nature to 
undermine all belief in the race to which we belong„ 
Whatever might be said or thought of Archie, nobody, 
surely, would have supposed him to be other than a 
straightforward, honorable man ; if he was not to be trusted 
who was ? She thought over the list of her acquaintance 
— a tolerably long one — and in not one of them except 
Bobby Dare could she feel absolutely convinced that there 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


269 


was no guile. But poor honest Bobby was far away, 
fighting the battle of humanity against the slave-trade, so 
that for all practical purposes he had to be dismissed as 
non-existent. Aunt Susan, of course, was honest enough 
according to her lights, but Aunt Susan’s lights were a 
little dim and her vision was so obscured by prejudices of 
different kinds that it was almost necessary to hold her at 
arm’s length. 

During luncheon, accordingly. Miss Skipwith was held 
at arm’s length, and was proportionately aggrieved. She 
felt constrained to say : — 

“ I know very well, my dear, that you are keeping some- 
thing back from me. I am not inquisitive, and I do not 
ask for your confidence ; still you might remember that I 
have always loved you as if you were my own child, though 
you may never have looked upon me as any substitute for 
your mother.” 

Cicely could only declare that she was concealing no- 
thing, and had said all that there was to say. She was 
sorry to appear unkind ; but there was no help for it. As 
a confidant. Aunt Susan really would not do. As soon as 
possible she made her escape, and, returning to her old 
post in the garden, gave herself up once more to moral- 
izing of a sad and cynical character. 

Some very enviable people are able to derive much 
placid enjoyment from absolute idleness ; but Cicely was 
not one of these. Like a great many dogs and the gene- 
rality of horses and all servants, she went to the bad when 
she bad no work to do, and she had fretted herself into a 
condition of utter disgust with everything and everybody 
by the time that the butler came ambling across the grass 
to inquire whether she would see Mr. Chetwode, who was 
at the front , door. It was only after some seconds of 
deliberation that she replied : — 

“ Yes. Ask him to come out here, please.” 

She was not sure that she particularly wanted to see 
Mark for his own sake, but she did rather particularly 
want to hear whether he could throw any light upon the 
origin of recent events, and she thought it by no means 
improbable that he had called for the purpose of so doing. 

Mark’s visit, it need scarcely be said, had been prompted 
by that kindly intention. Presently he stepped out of 
the sunlight into the shade, holding his hat in one hand 


270 


MISADVENTURE. 


and extending the other, while upon his features was dis- 
cernible just so much regret and anxiety as could be 
expressed without risk of impertinence. Cicely saw at a 
glance that he was aware of what had occurred and she 
did not care to fence with him. 

“ I suppose you know,” she began almost immediately, 
“ that Archie has gone away ? ” 

He made a sign of assent with some apparent reluctance, 
and allowed a short space of time to elapse before he 
said : — 

“Yes, I knew that he meant to go. In fact, he came 
to see me the night before last and told me that he did.” 

“ And did he tell you why he was going ? ” asked Cicely ; 
for she had made up her mind that if Archie had not done 
so, she would. 

Mark had seated himself in a wicker chair close to hers 
and was gravely contemplating a bed of scarlet verbenas at 
his feet. 

“ Well, no,” he answered ; “ I can’t say that he exactly 
did that ; but from what he did tell me, I understood that 
he was going away for a long time.” 

“ He is not coming back at all,” said Cicely quietly. 
“ As our engagement has been broken off, he cannot stay 
here for the present, and he speaks as if he would never 
stay here again.” 

Mark glanced quickly up. 

“ I am not surprised,” he said, “ and it would be 
useless affectation to pretend that I am sorry. I once took 
the liberty of expressing my opinion about your engage- 
ment to him at the risk of giving great offence, and what 
has happened since then hasn’t changed my opinion. I 
can’t help being glad that you are free — though, ifit makes 
you unhappy, I am very sorry for that.” 

“ It does make me unhappy,” Cicely confessed. “ I 
have no doubt you were right in thinking that our engage- 
ment could not end happily ; I have thought the same 
thing myself of late. Still I can’t feel satisfied with the 
way in which it has come to an end.” 

“ Oh, no,” agreed Mark, shaking his head ; “ you can’t, 
of course, feel satisfied with that.” 

You see,” Cicely went on — for, notwithstanding her 
recent pessimistic cogitations, she believed Mark to be a 
true friend, and although he said so little, there was some' 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


271 


thing in his manner which seemed to show that he could 
fully enter into her feelings — “ you see, it isn’t as though 
Archie were no relation of mine. In a great many ways 
he was more like my brother than my cousin, and I thought 
I knew him thoroughly, and now I find that I didn’t know 
him at all. The Archie whom I knew would never have 
acted as he has done,” she added rather pathetically. 

Mark still remained silent. Cicely gathered from his 
expression that he hesitated to put his thoughts into words, 
so she said : — 

“ I don’t at all mind talking about it. If you are any 
better informed than I am, you would do me a kindness 
by telling me what you have heard.” 

“ I don’t know how far your information goes. Miss 
Bligh,” answered Mark ; mine — that is, all that I had 
from your cousin — simply amounts to this. He came to 
my lodgings in a rather excited state to wish me good- 
bye ” 

On his way from Madame Souravieff's ? ” interruoted 
Cicely. 

Had he been there ? It was late when he arrived and 
he did not stay long. He said he wanted to wish me 
good-bye, as we should probably never meet again, and 
then he made some confused statement about his leaving 
England for good. I did not press him to explain himself 
because, to tell the truth, I hardly needed an explanation. 
I quite understood all that he didn’t say.” 

“ Did you ? I don’t think I do,” observed Cicely, 
after a short pause. “ It seems to me a little incomprehen- 
sible, in spite of what you told me that afternoon on the 
beach. I don’t mean that Archie’s dissatisfaction is 
incomprehensible, for I suppose that all men naturally wish 
to be masters in the house where they have to live ; but it 
wasn’t only because he was dissatisfied that he went 
away.” 

“ Oh, he had a more powerful reason, no doubt. In 
one way that reason is quite as incomprehensible to me as 
it can be to you ; but in another way it isn’t. I have seen 
the same kind of thing occur so often before that I can’t 
regard it as an extraordinary ])henomenon, though I admit 
that it is not easily accounted her. Perhaps the truth is 
that our weak point is our vanity, and that any woman who 
is not positively ugly and is clever enough to flatter us in 


272 


MISADVENTURE, 


the right way can make fools of us. I speak with all the 
humility of one who' has been made a fool of in his day,” 
added Mark, with a slight laugh. 

“ And by the same person ? ” 

“ By the same person. When I first met Madame Sou- 
ravieff I was a thoroughly miserable man — even more 
miserable in some respects than I am now. I had wasted 
my life in the society of people whose only object was to 
amuse themselves and who never succeeded : I had wasted 
my small fortune in gambling and my time in a mono- 
tonous round of dancing, dining and flirting. I was 
utterly sick of it all. I myself was just as selfish and 
stupid and bored as my so-called friends, only I was a 
shade worse off than they were because I was less resigned. 
As a matter of course, I fell, without a struggle to^ save 
myself, under the influence of a ‘woman who lived in the 
world, yet seemed to have ideas and ideals and enthusiasms 
which the world, in a social sense, usually laughs at. But 
perhaps this fragment of autobiographv doesn’t interest 
you ? ” 

“ It interests me very much,” said Cicely. ‘‘ Please go 
on.” 

“Well, I became Madame Souravieff’s most ardent 
admirer. I won’t say that I fell in love with her, because 
I have since seen reason to believe that I did not know 
what love was at that time, but at any rate I thought my- 
self in love with her. Perhaps I did n'ot althogether agree 
with her political opinions ; but that did not prevent me 
from placing myself unreservedly at her disposition and 
joining the secret societies which she asked me to join and 
believing in her sincerity, if I didn’t believe very much in 
the triumph of her schemes. As far as that goes, I believe 
in her sincerity still. She really loves Russia, and really 
thinks that Russia has a sacred mission to drive the infidel 
out of Europe. Whether she and her frieTids will help 
Russia by stirring up premature disturbances in Servia 
and Bulgaria is, of course, another question. What cap- 
tivated me, and what may perhaps have captivated 
your cousin, was her courage and a sort of sanguine 
cheeriness' which never deserted her, and, above all, the 
conviction which she was pleased to profess that nobody 
could serve her and her cause as well as I could.” 

All this was perfectly true \ so that there was no need 


MISADVENTURE. 


273 


for any skill on Mark’s part in order to lend an air of 
verisimilitude to a narrative which did not fail to impress 
his hearer. 

“ Yes,” she said ; “ but you are half a Russian and have 
lived in Russia. Archie is an Englishman, if ever there 
was one.” 

Mark drew down the corners of his mouth and jerked 
up his shoulders. 

“ Under certain circumstances,” he remarked, “ one 
might be persuaded to consider oneself a Chinaman.” 

Then if Archie has been what you call captivated, it is 
by Madame Souravieff herself, not by her political ideas.” 

“ I can’t tell ; she has many methods, but always one 
, dominant aim, and it would not surprise me in the least 
if the next news that you had from your cousin reached 
you from Bulgaria. It is probable that she will very soon 
forget all about him now. She has scored a signal victory, 
and that ought to satisfy her.” 

“ She is a very bad woman ! ” exclaimed Cicely sud- 
denly. 

“ Not so very, I think. Her impression, you may be 
sure, is that she has done you a service, and in all truth 
and honesty I can’t but agree with her.” 

And what about Archie ? You seem as ready to for- 
get him as you say that she is.” 

“ I own that I haven’t much compassion for him. I 
may be unduly partial to myself, but my case strikes me as 
a very different one from his. Madame Souravieff found 
me virtually alone in the world ; she might have turned me 
round her little finger if she had been much less pretty and 
pleasant and kind than she was, and I really don’t think 
that I should have been very much to blame. But what 
is there to be said for your cousin, who had everything that 
a man could wish or hope for, and deliberately threw it all 
away because he was silly enough to believe that a woman 
ten years older than himself appreciated him more than you 
did I can forgive him, because his loss is your gain, but 
as for pitying him, I should have to see things in quite 
another light before I could do that.” 

Cicely herself did not find it easy to pity Archie or to 
plead extenuating circumstances on his behalf. All that 
she could say was : — 

“It may be quite true that Madame Souravieff ai)pre- 


274 


M/S A I? VENTUIiJL, 


dated him more than I did. I was very fond of him and 
I am so still ; but I never cared for him in the way that he 
professed to care for me, and I never pretended that I 
did.” 

“ Ah ! ” ejaculated Mark, drawing a* long breath. 

“ There is no harm in my admitting that, now that it is 
all over,” Cicely went on. I suppose I ought not to 
have accepted him at all, but he wished it, and my father 
wished it. There was so much to be said in favor of the 
marriage and so very little against it.” 

Mark nodded. 

“ At any rate,” he observed presently, you must be glad 
to feel that you have nothing to reproach yourself with, 
and if you will pardon my saying so, I am very glad to feel 
that your future is now at your own disposition again. 
You were going to dispose of it after a fashion which would 
have made you wretched : it is something to know that 
that danger is past, whatever other dangers may be com- 
ing.” 

Another danger was doubtless at hand ; but Cicely did 
not perceive it, nor was her companion imprudent enough 
to give her any premature warning of its approach. For 
the present he was content to play the part of a sincere 
and sympathizing friend ; in which character she wa’S'very 
willing to welcome him. He left her decidedly more 
cheerful than he had found her, and before he went away, 
he ventured to impress upon her the advisability of bring- 
ing no accusation, direct or indirect, against Madame 
Souravieff. 

” She would only deny all knowledge of the fugitive,” he 
observed ; “ and I am afraid that perhaps she would exult 
over you a little.” 

This caution, which had the effect of making Cicely laugh 
for the first time, was, it need hardly be said, superfluous ; 
but Mark — as indeed had been shown by his demeanor 
throughout the interview — was a very cautious man’. 


M/s A D VENTURE, 


275 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

AN ATHLETIC MEETING. 

Cicely was not a little surprised by the calmness with 
which Archie’s desertion of her was generally acquiesced 
in. Being quite unaware that for some time past every- 
body had been saying to everybody else that this kind of 
thing really couldn’t go on much longer, you know, she 
gave her neighbors credit for more tact and good feeling 
than they possessed, and was grateful to them for sparing 
her the condolences which she had dreaded. She made no 
secret of the fact that her engagement was broken off. 
That was an announcement which must of necessity be 
made sooner or later, and might just as well be made at 
once. Besides, Aunt Susan, who had suddenly remem- 
bered that she owed a great many visits, would not have 
found it possible to hold her peace, even if she had been 
requested to do so. 

Those were days of much quiet enjoyment for Miss 
Skipwith. The old lady drove about from house to house, 
telling her tale in low, confidential tones, and claifning — as 
indeed no one could dispute her right to do — that from the 
very outset she had had a bad opinion of “ Mr. Archibald 
Bligh.” That the very last thing she had ever expected 
him to do was to renounce the brilliant prospect for which 
she believed him to have schemed was a matter of detail 
upon which she laid no stress. Unprincipled people can 
only act in an unprincipled way, and whether their lack of 
principle may cause them to drift north, south, east or 
west is evidently a mere question of the set of the prevail- 
ing wind. Now all Miss Skipwith’s friends agreed with 
her in thinking that this misguided young man would be 
found to have shaped his course towards the south-east- 
ward, and they were very sure that somebody else, not less 
unprincipled, would shortly set sail for a similar destination. 
It had leaked out that Madame Souravieff was upon the 
point of quitting Upton Chetwode, and for some reason or 


276 


MISADVENTURE. 


other the gossips had become imbued with the conviction 
that Archie was to await her arrival in Paris. This was 
very sad and very bad ; still things might doubtless have 
been worse. They would have been a great deal worse, 
for example, if the disgraceful affair had occurred after 
Cicely’s marriage instead of before it, and one could not 
be thankful enough that the poor girl had escaped so terrible 
a danger. The good people of the vicinity had, therefore, 
excellent reason for refraining from condoling with her,- in 
addition to one which they would not willingly have ad- 
mitted ; namely, that they were all a little frightened of the 
young heiress. 

A solitary exception was found in the person of Mr. 
Lowndes, who neither feared anybody (unless, perhaps, his 
wife at times) nor was disposed to believe in statements 
which struck him as well-nigh incredible. He went over to 
the Priory and had a long talk with Cicely, whom, however, 
he did not succeed in persuading that Archie was the vic- 
tim of some misunderstanding or intrigue. 

“ But, my dear girl,” he exclaimed, somewhat impatiently, 
“ you must know as well as I do that the poor lad is inca- 
pable of such conduct ! If anybody were to tell you that 
I had been seen drunk in the pulpit, would you believe 
it ? ” 

“ I should have to believe it if I saw it with my own eyes,” 
answered Cicely ; and to put an end to further discussion, 
she produced her cousin’s letter, which certainly appeared 
to be convincing, yet failed to convince the stubborn 
rector. 

Mr. Lowndes, therefore, wrote a kindly letter to Archie’s 
club in London, but received no reply ; and so in a sur- 
prisingly short space of time the luckless fellow was 
dismissed from the minds of those amongst whom he had 
seemed destined to spend the remainder of his life. It is 
true that he had never taken any great pains to make him- 
self popular. 

Mark Chetwode did not think he would promote his own 
interests by becoming a frequent visitor to the Priory ; but 
he managed without much exercise of ingenuity to meet 
Miss Bligh every day ; and what proved these encounters to 
be quite unpremeditated was that they took place in the 
most improbable spots. Once it was in a back-alley of 
Abbotsport ; once it was in the pine-wood adjoining the 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


277 


Upton Chetwode park ; once it was in a deserted timber- 
yard outside the village, whither she had betaken herself 
for a little quiet meditation, and where he assuredly could 
not have dreamt of coming across her — unless, indeed, he 
had been watching her movements from round the corner, 
which, as a matter of fact, was precisely what he had been 
doing. She began to look forward to seeing tius grave, 
reserved friend, who may possibly have realized what an 
extremely interesting quality reserve is. He always implied 
a good deal more than he said, the advantage of that 
method being that implications are usually understood l^y 
■the person to whom they are addressed, but that neither 
you nor that person need accej)t any responsibility for 
them. It pleased Cicely to ignore the humble adoration 
at which Mark hinted ; but she was very well aware that 
he admired her, and saw no reason why he should not, a 
great many people having done that without any bad con- 
sequences to themselves. She was accustomed to the 
admiration of men, and his was not the less agreeable to 
her because it had been so long withheld. 

What she was quite unconscious of was that she was 
falling into the habit of asking for Mark’s advice and taking 
it. To be sure, he was careful to make his advice chime 
in with what he believed to be her inclinations ; but, whe- 
ther intentionally or not, he was gradually assuming a 
certain air of authority in giving his opinion which she did 
not dislike. I 

Oh, I think you ought to be there,” he said decisively 
one afternoon, when she told him that she had doubts 
about attending the annual athletic meeting which her 
father had instituted for the benefit of the Abbotsport 
young men, and at which she had always hitherto given 
away the prizes ; “ you will disappoint them if you don’t 
show yourself, and nobody will take your appearance as an 
intimation that you wish to go into society again.” 

“ That is what I was not quite sure about,” answered 
Cicely hesitatingly. “ It has grown to be quite a large 
affair now, and the whole county comes to it.” 

‘‘ But who will present the prizes if you do not? Miss 
Skipwith?” 

Cicely laughed. 

“ No ; I’m afraid that would hardly do,” she answered. 

Besides, hothing would induce Aunt Susan to make her- 


278 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


self so conspicuous. I suppose I had better go through 
it; though it will be a little bit of an ordeal.” 

“ You are one of those people who never shirk ordeals,” 
observed Mark meditatively ; and he thought to himself 
that it would be no bad plan to let the county see him 
standing at Miss Bligh’s elbow on the occasion of the 
prize-giving. Public opinion is not of much value, still it 
is always more or less desirable that one’s position should 
be recognized. 

Thus it came to pass that when the A. A.C. (Abbotsport 
Athletic Club) held its summer meeting. Cicely, dressed in 
the deepest of mourning, took her accustomed place in the 
front of the covered platform which had been erected for 
the accommodation of distinguished patrons. The per- 
formances, if not quite up to the Lillie Bridge standard, 
were creditable enough, considering that not even the 
influence of Mr. Bligh had ever availed to persuade an 
Abbotsport lad of the necessity of going into training ; and 
the weather was fine, and the squires and squiresses from 
far and near had driven over to smile benignly upon the 
competitors. Among the last to arrive were the Dares, 
whom Cicely had not expected to see, and who greeted 
her with much warmth. They had only reached home on 
the previous evening, they explained, and as soon as Sir 
George and Lady Dare had turned away to make civil 
speeches to other neigbors. Miss Jane came to the front. 

Miss Jane’s manner was |Unwontedly cordial and confi- 
dential. She said : — 

“ My dear Cicely, I am so glad you are here. I was 
half afraid that you wouldn’t be, and I have such a number 
of things to tell you about. Wouldn’t you like to take a 
turn round the ground ? ” 

Cicely had no objection. She had lived for so many 
weeks in comparative solitude that she was bewildered 
and distressed by the hum of voices round her and the 
incessant stretching forth of hands which she was obliged 
to shake. 

“ Well, first of all,” began Miss Dare, when they had 
passed outside the circle of spectators, “ I must tell you 
that Bobby is coming home and may arrive any day. It 
seems that the wounds which he received in that affair 
where he behaved so splendidly were really more serious 
than was represented. At any rate, they haveh’t healed 


.ms AD VE.YTURD. 


279 

properly, and he has been ordered out of that hot climate 
on sick-leave." 

Cicely said she was glad that Bobby was coming back 
to England, but sorry for the cause of his return. 

“ Oh,” said Miss Dare, “ we are not at all alarmed about 
him ; a little care and nursing will soon put him fight, we 
hope. It was on his account that we hurried home from 
Wiesbaden, instead of going on to Switzerland, as usual, 
for my father to recruit himself after the baths. And 
whom do you think that we made acquaintance with at 
Wiesbaden? No less a person than Count Souravieff, the 
husband of that detestable woman ! ” 

. So I heard from the detestable woman herself,” re- 
marked Cicely. “ At least she told us that she had had a 
letter from her husband, and as he seemed to know all 
that was taking place here, we presumed that he must have 
met you.” 

‘‘ You don’t mean to say that she mentioned her hus- 
band to you ? What impudence ! It appears that she had 
completely deceived the poor old man as. to her where- 
abouts, and he was in a great state of mind when he heard 
that she was actually living in Mr. Chetwode’s house. 
Mamma is so very sorry now that she called upon her.” 

“ I don’t think Lady Dare need regret it 6n Mr. Chet- 
wode’s account,” said Cicely. “ He has only a friendly 
regard for his tenant — if he has that.” 

“Well, not on Mr. Chetwode’s account only, of course," 
answered Miss Dare, with a tentative side-glance at her 
companion; “but — but really she seems to be such a 
dreadful woman altogether. Cicely dear, I wonder 
whether you will mind my saying how very sorry I was to 
hear of the way in which your engagement to your cousin 
had ended." 

“ Not in the least,” replied Cicely ; “ it makes a pleas- 
ant change. Up to now, nobody, except Mr. Lowndes, 
has expressed anything but satisfaction that it had come 
to an end." 

Miss Dare pointed out that what had moved her to 
sorrow was the manner in which the rupture had occurred, 
not the rupture itself, “which I couldn’t honestly pretend 
to regret. And are you still upon speaking terms with 
Madame Souravieff?” she inquired, with some curiosity. 

“ I haven’t seen her for some little time," answered 


28 o 


Af/SA D VENTURE. 


• u 

Cicely ; “ but I am on speaking terms with her, as far as 
I kjiow. Why should I not be ? ” 

Miss Dare, being a matter-of-fact person, was about to 
reply to this question when she was checked. 

“ Of course I understand what you mean,” Cicely said ; 
but I don’t know and don’t want to know whether there 
is any truth in what you seem to have heard. Archie and 
I are not going to be married because we agreed that we 
should disagree as husband and wife ; that is reason enough 
for our having parted, I suppose. Now I think we ought 
to be going back to the stand.” 

It was indeed about time to do so, for now the last race 
had been run and the last attempt to accomplish the high 
jump had failed, and Mr. Lowndes was clearing his voice 
in preparation for the speech in which he proposed to 
announce that Miss Bligh had very kindly consented to 
hand the prizes to those who had so well earned them. 
Nobody could be better qualified than Cicely to discharge 
this duty. Being, as she was, personally acquainted with 
the winners, she knew exactly what to say to them and was 
able to dismiss each in turn with a satisfied grin upon his 
face. Mark Chetwode, who had arrived somewhat late, 
had taken up his station close behind her and handed her 
the cups, clocks and other useful and ornamental objects 
as they were required. 

Some people, amongst whom was Miss Dare, thought 
this a rather forward proceeding on Mr. Chetwode’s part, 
and exchanged whispered observations about him which 
were neither kind nor complimentary ; but their criticisms 
were diverted into another channel when a certain showy 
victoria, which everybody recognized, was seen advancing 
at a brisk pace across the grass outside the enclosure. 

Surely,” exclaimed everybody, “ she will never have 
the face ! ” But secretly everybody hoped that she would ; 
because, however much one may deprecate brazen assur- 
ance in the abstract, there is no denying that a flagrant 
exhibition of it aflbrds a certain degree of pleasurable 
excitement to spectators. 

Of that pleasure and excitement Madame Souravieff had 
no intention of depriving the assembled company. Strictly 
speaking, she was scarcely entitled to demand admittance 
to a stand which was supposed to be re-served for sub- 
scribers ; but her claim was not disputed. The two rural 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


281 


constables who guarded the entrance saluted her respect- 
fully as she swept past them, and presently she appeared 
in the midst of the gathering of notables, all eyes being 
turned upon her with glances of mingled curiosity and hos- 
tility. Lady Dare’s bow was quite a work of art in its 
way. She managed it by straightening her shoulders, 
throwing her head back and then very slightly bending 
her neck, at the same time sticking her’ chin out and lower- 
ing her eyelids. In large cities, where people perhaps 
have not time to study niceties of demeanor, such appall- 
ing salutations are not common ; but in the provinces they 
may be seen from time to time, and the effect of them is 
enough to crush all heart out of the most audacious. If 
Madame Souravieff was not crushed, it was because she was 
too preoccupied to notice anything more than that some 
dowdy old woman or other was bowing to her. 

She made her way at once to the front of the platform, 
where Mark was standing beside the red-covered table, 
and the moment that Mark saw her face he knew that she 
was in one of her most dangerous moods. What had 
occurred to irritate her he had no idea ; but very evident 
it was that she was irritated — which was as much as to say 
that she was reckless. She pushed past him, taking no 
heed of the detaining hand which he stretched out, and 
with a smiling face, but somewhat harsh voice, greeted 
Cicely, who was a little startled, having had no warning of 
her approach. 

“ How do you do. Miss Bligh ? I could not deny my- 
self the pleasure of assisting at this idyllic fete. You are 
bestowing rewards, I see, upon the successful gymnasts. 
And have you no reward for your clever assistant, Mr. 
Chetwode.? He is modest ; he keeps himself in the back- 
ground j yet I know nobody who can perform more 
remarkable gymnastics than he. I mean moral gymnas- 
tics ; but those are perhaps the most difficult, after all.” 

Cicely looked surprised, but only said rather coldly : — 

“ How do you do, Madame Souravieff? ” 

That was, no doubt, the best answer that she could 
make, and the expectant magnates, who had eagerly 
watched the encounter, without hearing what passed be- 
tween the two ladies, exchanged approving glances, feeling 
that their representative had so far had the best of it. 

The next minute Cicely had to present a beaker to a 


282 


M/SA D VENTURE, 


blushing young giant who held an enormous pair of hands 
to receive it, so that Madame Souravieff was prevented 
from continuing her remarks. Before she could commit 
herself further Mark stepped up to her and, with his usual 
impassive countenance, said in Russian : — 

“ Do you wish to appear perfectly ridiculous in the 
presence of a number of people who are longing for an 
excuse to laugh at you ? If not, perhaps you will tell me 
what is the matter before you make a scene.” 

She replied in a low, fierce tone and in the same lan- 
guage ^ 

“You are trying to play your game without me \ you 
have told me lies. That was not wise of you, my friend.” 

“ It might have been even less wise to tell you the 
truth,” observed Mark coolly. “ At any* rate you had 
better give me a chance of hearing your explanation and 
offering mine. I will drive back with- you when this busi- 
ness is over if you will allow me. And if you came here 
for the purpose of denouncing me to Miss Bligh, I may 
remind you that that can be done quite as well to-morrow 
as to-day.” 

“ I think,” said Madame Souravieff, “ that you would be 
rightly served if I were to do it now.” 

“ Possibly ; though I do not know why. The effect 
would be dramatic, I daresay ; only it might also be a 
trifle grotesque, might it not ? ” 

Madame Souravieff sighed and yielded. She had quite 
meant to be dramatic ; but she did not particularly wish 
to be grotesque, and Mark’s composure chilled her. So 
she sat down in a chaif which he obligingly pushed for- 
ward, and the proceedings terminated with a tameness 
which was rather disappointing to some of the lookers-on. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE MEMORY OF THE PAST. 

The explanation which Mark Chetwode had suggested of 
Archie’s sudden disappearance had not been altogetlier 
disagreeable to Madame Souravieff, although she had not, 
of course, believed in it. Her own impression was that 


MISADVENTURE. 


283 


the young man had gone off in a fit of irritation, and would 
probably return ere long in a penitent frame of mind. 
Meanwhile her vanity was flattered by what had appeared 
very like a slight exhibition of jealousy on Mark’s part. 
But on the day of the Abbotsport athletic meeting she 
received a letter from an intimate friend in London which 
caused her to view the situation in a very different light. 

“What strange people you and Mr. Chetwode are!” 
this frieird wrote, “ and what strange recruits you manage 
to get hold of ! Frankly, my dear — what has this poor, 
innocent, stupid young Englishman done to you ? That 
is a question which you will not answer, I suppose, though 
you know I am as discreet as I am inquisitive. But at 
least do not tell me that he is animated by ardor for the 
great cause, or that you have persuaded him to adopt ideas 
which certain politicians in this country have gravely 
accepted from you. No, no ; that really will not do 1 I 
grant you the politicians, who are ignorant and self-com- 
placent enough to believe in anything ; but a simple 
soldier, who relies upon the evidence of his own senses 
and could never be made to understand how black can be 
white — allons done ! And you take no half-measures 
with him either ; he has gone all lengths, I understand. 
What surprises me is that you should have been able to in- 
duce the persons whom we know of to accept him. It is true 
that you are better acquainted with those persons and 
their requirements than I am ; for I, as you are aware, do 
not propose to go all lengths. I only saw this Mr. Bligh 
for a few minutes — a nice young man, with a countenance 
of the deepest despair and an air of being tired of life. 
Well, if. he wishes somebody to relieve him of that burden, 
one must confess that he has been fortunate in falling in 
with the right sort of friends.” 

These observations infuriated Madame Souravieff all the 
more because she was no better informed than her corres- 
pondent as to their exact significance. It was a sore 
point with her that, for all her plotting and scheming, she 
had never been fully trusted by those who made use of her 
talents. The mysterious persons alluded to were really 
mysterious to her; she held no direct communication with 
them, she was only allowed occasional glimpses of their 
plans, and it had galled her that her protege Mark Chet- 
wode was admitted into inner circles from which she her- 


284 


M/SA D VENTURE, 


self was excluded. And a noble use he seemed to have 
made of his privileges ! Naturally, what most excited 
Madame Soiiravieff's wrath was to find that she had been 
tricked, and that Mark was so desperately eager to get rid 
of his rival ; but in addition to that, she really felt a glow 
of indignation at the means which he had adopted to 
secure his end; One may be a conspirator without being 
an assassin. 

The upshot of some stormy self-communings Was that 
she resolved to present herself at the athletic sports in the 
manner described. And it was with the full intention of 
making a scene that she herself had driven thither. What 
did she care for the amazement or consternation of the 
assembled company ? She was going away from the 
place ; she would never see these people again ; they 
might say and think just what they pleased about her. 
Only Mark should be taught that it was dangerous to play 
a double game with the woman whom he had pretended to 
love. 

As has been seen, she abandoned her spirited pro- 
gramme because her heart failed her at the last moment, 
but she was determined to have it out with Mark, and no 
sooner had he seated himself beside her in her victoria 
than she began : — 

“Why did you not tell me that it was you who sent 
young Bligh away ? Why did you not tell me what you 
had done with him ? Was it because you knew that I 
should never consent to his being employed in such a 
manner ? Was it because you knew that, whatever I may 
be, I am not a cold-blooded murderess ? ” 

“ Before I answer your questions, Olga,” replied Mark 
composedly, “ you will perhaps allow me to put one to 
you. In what manner do you imagine that Bligh is to be 
employed?” 

“ Oh, as to that, there is no need to waste words. I 
received information from London to-day — you might have 
guessed that I should — and you cannot deceive me. The 
man has got his death-warrant.” 

‘^Indeed? If so, I can only say that I am quite un- 
aware of it. There is a chance, but not a very strong one, 
I should think, that he will take part in some desultory 
fighting before long, and of course he may be shot ; but 
that can scarcely be regarded as equivalent to a death- 


MISADVENTURE, 285 

warrant. If you have heard of his being threatened with 
any greater danger, you know more than I do.” 

Now Madame Souravieff, having no certain knowledge 
of what was implied in “ going all lengths,” was a little 
afraid that she would be laughed at if she gave expression 
to her conjectures. Therefore she only said : — 

“ Why should he be expected to run the risk of being 
shot in such a cause ? What has he to do with Bulgaria ? ” 

Mark shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Oh, nothing. I sometimes ask myself what I have to 
do vvith Bulgaria ; yet 1 suppose it is upon the cards that 
1 may be shot some day in that interesting country. To 
be sure, I know very well for whose sake it was that I 
took certain engagements upon me ; and I am not con- 
vinced that Bligh’s case differs very greatly from my own.” 

“ You cannot put me off by talking what you and I 
know is nonsense. You have sent him out there because 
you love that girl, and because you are afraid of him and 
hope that he will be killed.” 

“ Oh, very well ; if you choose to say so ! Only I don’t 
know how you suppose that I can have prevailed upon 
him to be so accommodating.” 

“ That is what you will have to explain to me; but you 
cannot deny that this is your doing. And why did you 
conceal the truth from me ? ” 

“ For the simple reason that he made me promise not to 
reveal it. I told you that he came to me in a very excited 
and incoherent condition. He said he was going away 
for good and all, and he expressed a wish to see some 
active service ; so I gave him what help I could by writ- 
ing introductions for him to our friends in London. Of 
course I was bound to respect his secret, since he made a 
point of it ; but, as you observed just now, it was obvious 
that you would very soon hear what had become of him.” 

‘‘ I do not believe,” said Madame Souravieff, speaking 
very slowly, “ that you are telling me the truth even 
now.” 

Mark raised his eyes and scrutinized her steadily for a 
moment. How would it do to let her hear the real cause 
of Archie’s flight? Had he felt that it was at all possible 
to trust her, he would have done so ; but she was so 
capricious and so apt to lose her self-control that she 
might at any moment blurt out what she knew, and — 


286 


MISADVENTURE, 


oddly enough, as many people would think — it was for 
Archie’s sake that he decided to hold his peace. That 
unlucky fellow was already at the mercy of two persons ; 
it would be rather unfair to add such a third to the num- 
ber. So he only said : 

I am afraid I cannot give you faith. Perhaps, if you 
wish to obtain it, your best plan would be to write to 
Bligh himself. I have the address of his London club.” 

“ I must try to believe you,” said Madame Souravieff, 
sighing. “ Evidently I should get no further information 
by writing, or you would not advise me to write.” ^And 
then, as if reasoning with herself, she added, “ It is pos- 
sible, after all, that the girl may have goaded him to des- 
peration.” 

“ Yes ; the girl — or somebody else,” said Mark. At 
any rate, he is disposed of, and that is what you wished. 
At least, so I imagined.” 

“It isn’t always so easy to know what one wishes for,” 
replied Madame Souravieff, with a sigh. “ I wonder what 
you wish for ! Or rather, I don’t wonder, because I know. 
Well, so be it ! Every dog has his day, and I have had 
mine. Will you stay and dine with me to-night? ” 

“ I shall be only too delighted.” 

“ I am not sure about that ; you must be getting rather 
tired of dining with me by now, I suspect. But be con- 
soled ; this shall be the very last time. Everything in life 
is uncertain, but I suppose I may say with certainty that 
in another forty-eight hours I shall have taken a final fare- 
well of Abbotsport.” 

She did not appear to be looking at Mark ; but very 
probably she could see his face out of the corner of hes 
eye, and it was doubtless wise ^f him to assume an air 
deep concern. 

“ Must you go ? ” he asked. 

“ I don’t know that I am absolutely compelled to go ; 
but Boris insists, and my own sense of expediency backs 
him up. I have done what I wanted to do here — or what 
I thought I wanted to do \ the climax is not likely to be 
interesting, nor can I flatter myself that I shall be very 
much missed. Plow glad you will be when you hear that 
I have reached Paris, and that you can count upon carry- 
ing this business through in your own quiet, methodical 
way, without danger of being put to confusion at any 
moment by a woman who thinks she has claims upon you ! ” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


287 


Mark thought it best to make a slight grimace and 
remain silent. He would indeed be glad to know that the 
English Channel was between him and Madame Soura- 
vieff; but in her present unsettled state of mind there 
would be risk in protesting too loudly that such was not 
the case. 

During the remainder of the drive she said very little, 
and immediately on reaching the house she went upstairs 
to dress for dinner. When she reappeared, her guest, who 
had for some time been awaiting her, with a newspaper 
which he was not reading in his hand, gave an involuntary 
exclamation of astonishment. She had arrayed herself 
with a splendor which seemed wholly inappropriate to the 
occasion. Her dress, the body and train of which were of 
pale pink brocade, while the front was of silk, covered 
with exquisite embroidery of a somewhat darker shade, 
must have cost a small fortune ; a necklace of enormous 
diamonds encircled her white throat, and in her dark hair 
blazed a tiara of the same jewels. She stood looking down 
upon him for a moment with an ironical smile upon her 
lips ; and then all of a sudden he understood. Years 
before — it seem6d a great many years — she had worn an 
exactly similar costume at a ball at the Winter Palace in 
St. Petersburg, and on that evening he had ventured to 
tell her for the first time in plain words that he loved her. 
How well he remembered it ! — all the better because until 
that moment he had so completely forgotten it. But now 
the whole scene came back to him ; the tall erect figure of 
the late Czar ; the crowd of officials in their showy uniforms ; 
the jewels, the multitude of lights, the heated air and the 
heavy scent of the flowers. He saw himself, too, tired, 
disconsolate, thoroughly disenchanted with existence. And 
this woman, who at the very least had given him a fresh 
interest in-'life — well, perhaps he had been mistaken ; but 
certainly he had held very exalted ideas about her at the 
time. For although she had listened to him without anger 
or surprise, and although she had not shrunk from admitting 
that she cared for him, she had in a certain sense held him 
at arm’s length. Later in their acquaintance she had 
become more reckless in her speech ; but neither then nor 
at any other subsequent period had he been guilty of any 
disrespect towards her, save that of repeating that he loved 
her. And she had said what he himself had felt, that we 


388 


Af/SA D VENTURE, 


cannot help loving and ought not to be blamed for it ; but 
that when we are condemned to unhappiness it is better to 
try and make others happy than to sit still and groan. 
And thus it was that she had persuaded him to labor for 
the happiness of the Slavonic races. Perhaps he had 
never cared very much about the Slavonic races ; certainly 
he had soon grown weary of the labors which they were 
said to require at his hands, and afterwards he had wearied 
of other things and people into the bargain. But at this 
moment a vivid flash of memory made his heart ache and 
brought an unwonted ring of tenderness into his voice as 
he spoke : — 

‘‘ Ah, you haven’t forgotten, then ? ” 

“ I do not forget easily,” Madame Souravieff answered; 
it is you who need reminders.” 

She was pleased, however, that the reminder had proved 
so effectual, and presently, when they moved into the 
dining-room, she essayed, not without a measure of suc- 
cess, to employ those attractions which had captivated 
Mark and many another man besides in days gone by. 
Wholly successful she could not be, and she knew that she 
could not. She knew it, that is to say, in much the same 
sense as she knew that her hair was turning grey and that 
she had lost her youth beyond recall. Patent facts cannot 
be disputed ; yet when such facts relate to oneself, one is 
apt to admit them with a mental reservation, and if there 
had been no reservation in Madame Souravieff s mind she 
would hardly have astonished her guest and -her servants 
by donning that pink gown and those diamonds. She 
could talk very brightly and cleverly ; she had little tricks 
of speech and manner which were peculiar to her, and she 
was looking extremely handsome. Of course it was all in 
vain; but there was just a possibility of its not being in 
vain, and under certain circumstances one has to make the 
best of possibilities. 

As for Mark, he had to make the best of a situation 
which was not free from embarrassment and peril. Partly 
from a feeling of remorse, partly from motives of policy, 
he met her half way, dwelling regretfully upon episodes of 
the past, and ejaculating, with a melancholy smile, 
Vheureux temps quafid nous etions si malheureux And 
later in the evening, by which time Madame Souraviefi’s 
determination to quit Abbotsport at once had been shown 


MISA D VENTURE. 289 

to be irrevocable, he ventured upon less ambiguous lan- 
guage than that. 

“ It will be impossible for me to live in this house after 
you have gone away ! ” he exclaimed. “ I have hated it 
from the first, and I shall hate it a thousand times more 
when everything about it will remind me that you were 
here once and will never be here again.” 

“ I was thinking of asking you to accept the few odds 
and ends that I brought down from London with me to 
brighten the rooms up,” she said, smiling ; “ but if you 
feel in that way about it, perhaps I had better have them 
removed. However, you will not be called upon to live 
here very long, and after you have migrated to the Priory 
you won’t often revisit the halls of your ancestors, I dare- 
say. And then at last you will have regained possession 
of the lands of your ancestors. Doesn’t that thought con- 
sole you ? ” 

“I had forgotten all about them,” answered Mark, 
rather incautiously. 

The moment the words were out of his mouth he saw 
what a stupid blunder he had made ; for was not this 
recovery of the Chetwode property supposed to be the one 
motive of his courtship ? But Madame Souravieff did not 
appear to notice his slip of the tongue, and he hastened to 
add : — 

“ Consolations are always discoverable, and one is driven 
to discover them when one’s fate is decided ; but just now 
I can remember nothing except that this is our last evening 
together, Olga.” 

“ Oh, it need not be quite so bad as that,” she returned 
with a laugh ; “ one is permitted to spend a quiet evening 
with one’s friends occasionally, even when they are mar- 
ried. Or do you think that will not be permitted in your 
case ? ” 

He shook his head gravely. 

“ I can’t tell. All I can see is that I am at the end of a 
period. And I am a little old for opening fresh periods.” 

• Madame Souravieff gazed intently at his impenetrable 
face. She did not trust him ; yet— it was certain that he 
had loved her once. 

‘‘ I wonder,” she sighed, ‘‘ what would happen to us both 
if I were free at this moment.” 

“ Don’t you know ? ” he asked reproachfully. 

10 


290 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


“ I thought I did ; but perhaps I was mistaken. Oi 
course it would be for you to decide what should happen.” 

She held out her hand to him. 

“ Thank you, Mark,” she said simply ; “ you have given 
me something pleasant to remember after I go away. I 
have sometimes wished that you had never seen Miss 
Bligh j but if I may still believe that I come first ” 

“ You will always be first,” he declared. 

“ Then I don’t care ! Your future will be happier than 
mine ; but when all is said, it has been for your happiness 
much more than for my own that I have wished.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE RETURN OF THE HERO. 

To suffer from the inconstancy of another is, no doubt, a 
very painful thing ; but it may almost be questioned 
whether it is not as painful — and certainly it is more pro- 
voking — to be the victim of an obstinate constancy which 
one is unable to share. Madame Souravieff had contrived 
to make Mark feel remorseful, and after he had left her, 
he spent some time in wishing that she had not forced 
him to be so mendacious, or that his professions could 
have been a shade more sincere, or that she would take a 
fancy to somebody else ; but when he woke the next morn- 
ing he naturally saw things in a somewhat different light, 
and was only thankful that she was going away. It was 
all very well for her to say that she desired nothing but 
his happiness ; but she would never have the patience or 
forbearance to look on while he worked out his own hap- 
piness in his own way, and so long as she remained at 
Upton Chetwode the danger of her ruining everything by 
some sudden coup de tete would always be imminent. 

Of this she herself was probably aware, and she was also 
aware of a reluctance to depart which warned her to lose 
no time in taking her departure. It was characteristic of 
the woman to drive over to the Priory in order to say 
good-bye to Cicely Bligh — a ceremony which, under all 
the circumstances, might very well have been omitted. She 
did not care about seeing Cicely, and it seemed unlikely 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


291 


that Cicely could be anxious to see her ; but on the other 
hand, the idea of slinking away from the place like a de- 
faulter was unpleasant to her, and she did not choose to 
have the appearance of shirking an uncomfortable inter- 
view. Like the generality of those who pride themselves 
upon their tact, Madame Souravieff was prone to disregard 
ordinary rules in her tactics and to believe that she could 
carry anything off. 

As was to be expected, she met with a very icy recep- 
tion from Cicely, whose attitude of disdainful reserve she 
found it impossible to break down. 

“ I do not know whether we shall meet again in this 
world. Miss Bligh,” she said ; “ but I never forget my 
friends and I shall not forget you. Perhaps I may have 
news of you every now and then from Mr. Chetwode.” 

“ Perhaps — if he remains in these parts,” answered 
Cicely. 

“ I imagine that he will remain in these parts. Will you 
think me very impertinent if I tell you how glad I was to 
hear that your cousin had left these parts for good ? ” 

Cicely looked as if she did think her impertinent, but 
abstained from saying so. 

“ He is a good young man in his way,” Madame Soura- 
vieff went on ; “ but he is not good enough for you, and I 
am rejoiced that you have found that out in time. I do 
not even feel sorry for him,” she added ; “ because he 
would always have been conscious of his inferiority, and it 
cannot be pleasant for a husband to know that he is his 
wife’s inferior.” 

“ It was not for any reason of that kind that the engage- 
ment was broken off,” said Cicely, who suspected that 
Madame Souravieff was covertly laughing at her. “Where 
do you think of going when you leave this ? ” 

“ To Paris in the first instance ; after that I shall be 
guided by circumstances. Possibly I may join my husband 
in Germany, but more probably he will implore me to 
remain away from him. I think I told you that my hus- 
band had kindly given me leave to go where I liked, so 
long as I did not stay in Mr. Chetwode’s neighborhood. I 
am obliged to obey him, although, as you know, his sus- 
picions are sufficiently ridiculous.” 

“ They certainly seem to be so,” said Cicely coldly. 

Madame Souravieff would have paid a good deal of 


- Z()2. 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


money for, the privilege of addressing a few home truths to 
this supercilious young woman ; but she had determined 
to retain her self-possession. To save herself from losing 
it, she rose and took her leave ; and it was a pity, for her 
sake, that she did not know how angry she had made her 
successful rival. To Cicely it seemed evident that she had 
called for the e.xpress purpose of making those few obser- 
vations about Archie, and of hinting, not very obscurely, 
that she intended to meet him in Paris. She had appar- 
ently forgotten the animosity against Mr. Chetwode which 
she had displayed in so indecorous a manner on the occa- 
sion of the prize-giving. 

“ Well,” thought Cicely, “ it is not worth while to lose 
one’s temper with her, but I trust I may never see her 
again.” 

A few days after this, Mark called at the Priory and 
announced that he had once more taken up his abode at 
Upton Chetwode. 

“ My tenant has left,” he said, ‘‘ and I am my own 
master again. For reasons that you know of, I couldn’t 
quite feel that I was that while she Was here.” 

“ I don’t want to talk about her,” answered Cicely, with 
a gesture of disgust ; “let us try to forget her.” 

“ With all my heart,” returned Mark, smiling slightly ; 
“ but perhaps it is wholesome for me to remember some- 
times that she , once made a fool of me.” 

He was very careful and very discreet ; he understood 
that before he could venture to proclaim himself Cicely’s 
lover he must become her trusted friend, and it was in the 
latter capacity that he strove, as heretofore, to ingratiate 
himself with her. Upon the whole he was very well satis- 
fied with the progress that he made in the course of the 
ensuing week. It was not difficult to intercept her on her 
way to or from the village, and she always seemed glad to' 
meet him — as in truth she was. At the bottom of her 
heart she may have suspected that he cherished somewhat 
warmer sentiments than those of mere friendship for her ; 
but as those sentiments, if they existed, were kept to him- 
self, there was no need to trouble about them. He had a 
practical, dispassionate way of looking at things which 
made her think highly of his sagacity, and although she 
never actually consulted him with reference to the many 
daily questions upon which it was her duty to adjudicate, 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


293 


she fell into the habit of mentioning these to him in the 
course of conversation. Probably it did not diminish her 
good opinion of him to find that his views invariably 
coincided with her own. 

One afternoon she was sauntering homewards with this 
trustworthy neighbor, whom she had, as usual, encountered 
by chance on the outskirts of Abbotsport, when the sound 
of a view-halloo behind her made her stop short and look 
round. There was but one person in the country who 
would have ventured to attract her attention after that un- 
ceremonious fashion, and as the person in question was a 
very particular friend of hers, she was delighted to recog- 
nize his powerful voice. But Sir George Dare, whose 
thickset figure could be seen advancing rapidly from the 
distance, was not alone ; and who could his slim, interest- 
ing-looking companion be? Surely not Bobby, bearded 
and bronzed, and carrying his left arm in a sling ! Bobby, 
however, it was ; and as he drew nearer. Cicely at once 
perceived that it would not accord with the fitness of things 
to address him as Bobby any longer. A few months may 
suffice to change a boy into a man, and the wounded hero 
who was taking off* his hat to her evidently possessed the 
right to be called Mr. Dare in future. 

“How do you do, my dear?.” called out Sir George ; 
and then, in somewhat less cordial accents, “ How are you, 
Chetwode? Bob and I were on our way to pay our re- 
spects at the Priory,” he continued. “ WeVe got him back, 
you see, safe and pretty nearly sound. Not quite fit to use 
his bridle-arm yet ; but that’s no great loss to him, you’ll 
say. Never mind. Bob, there are more good riders than 
good fighters in the world, you may depend upon it.” 

Bobby’s sun-burnt cheeks assumed a more vivid hue. 
His father’s unconscionable crowing had already made him 
long to hide his head more than once, and he felt sure that 
Miss Bligh must be inwardly laughing at them both. But 
in this he wronged Cicely, who held out her hand to hini 
with a bright smile and said : — 

“ I am very glad to see you home again, Mr. Dare ! Is 
your arm very bad still ? ” 

“ Oh, it’s nothing,” answered Bobby rather shamefacedly. 
“ I got rather seedy out there because of the heat, and the 
doctors made me take sick leave ; but I’ve really no 
business to be here. The voyage back put me ail right.’^ 


294 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


“ Well, now that you are here, you will have to stay 
until the doctors allow you to go away again,” said Cicely 
decisively ; “ and I hope the doctors won’t be in any 
hurry about it. Other people ought to be given a chance 
of earning glory.” 

Bobby looked down and murmured something unintelli- 
gible. Sir George had marched on ahead with Mark Chet- 
wode, who resignedly accepted the companionship thrust 
upon him. 

“ So you’re back in your own house, I hear,” said Sir 
George cheerfully. “ Not sorry to be out of those stuffy 
lodgings, I daresay. And what has become of your fair 
tenant ? ” 

“ I think Madame Souravieff said that she intended to 
go to Paris,” answered Mark. 

“ Oh, she did, eh ? Well, that’s what everybody seems 
to have taken for granted. H’m ! — queer business, first 
and last. No business of mine, though, of course.” 

“A queer business? ” repeated Mark, innocently. 

“ I mean about young Bligh. Probably you know the 
ins and outs of it a great deal better than I do ; but it’s no 
secret that your friend was the cause of his engagement 
being broken off.” 

Mark emphatically disclaimed the knowledge imputed to 
him ; yet he allowed it to be inferred that he knew more 
than he cared to talk about. It was desirable that the 
county should hold the theory suggested by Sir George ; 
but it was not desirable that he should be held in any way 
responsible for it. As a matter of fact. Sir George was not 
greatly interested in the question of what had become of 
Madame Souravieff. That wily old gentleman’s object was 
to afford his son a legitimate opportunity, and he was 
quite satisfied with his success in that respect. Probably 
he did net take into account the uncalled-for diffidence 
with which his son was afflicted. ~~ 

Bobby, indeed, could find very little to say to the girl 
whom he still adored, and at whom he glanced shyly out of 
*he corner of his eye as he walked beside her ; but this was 

no great consequence, since Cicely was fully equal to 
^>staining the whole burden of the conversation. She 
^^ihed for particulars of the engagement in which he had 
.-oceived his wound, and professed to be much disappoint- 
ed with the dry and featureless account that he gave her 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


295 


of that affray. Did he think that he would get the Vic- 
toria Cross ? Well, what was there to laugh at in that ? 
Was not the Victoria Cross bestowed for acts of conspi- 
cuous bravery, and could anybody deny that his acts had 
been conspicuously brave ? At the very least the author- 
ities would take care that he had quick promotion, she 
supposed. But if there was no certainty about that, and if 
officers were not necessarily promoted for performing their 
duty with splendid success, what in the world were they 
promoted for ! 

Now, such questions as these, together with the succinct 
replies which they elicited, might have sufficed to keep the 
conversation alive for an indefinite length of time if Bobby 
had been disposed to submit to that kind of thing ; but, 
meek as he was, he could not stand more than five minutes 
of it. In the first place, his modesty was unfeigned, and 
in the second, he more than half suspected that Cicely’s 
persistency in talking about him was caused by unwilling- 
ness to talk about herself. So at last he interrupted her 
rather bluntly by saying : — 

“ Your life has been more eventful than mine since I saw 
you last. I wanted to write and tell you how sorry I was 
to hear of Mr. Bligh’s death and — and all your other trou- 
bles ; but then I thought perhaps you wouldn’t care to be 
bothered with letters.” 

Cicely’s face became graver and her voice more sub- 
dued. 

“ Of course I should have liked to hear from you,” she 
answered. “ Ordinary letters of condolence are rather 
more of a bother than a comfort, perhaps ; but yours, I 
know, would have been sincere. However, I didn’t re- 
quire it to feel sure of your sympathy.” 

Well,” said Bobby, “ I am glad of that.” And after a 
pause, he added, “ I have often thought of that evening 
when I saw you for the last time before I went away. I 
wonder whether you remember it.” 

I remember it very well ; and I remember that you 
went away without saying good-bye to us — which was not 
very friendly of you.” 

‘‘ Oh, you know why I did that ; it was the best thing I 
could do. I was only wondering whether you remembered 
what I said to you about Archie that evening.” 

“ Yes,” answered Cicely, with a rather troubled look ; 


296 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


“ but we needn’t go back to that now, need we ? You 
have heard of what has happened since, and— and that it 
is all over and done with.” 

“ I am not sure that I have heard all that has happened. 
My people told me a story which I couldn’t quite swallow. 
About Archie’s going away, I mean, and the supposed 
reason.” 

“ Oh, I daresay people have discovered plenty of sup- 
posed reasons. Surely, when Archie and I came to the 
conclusion that we were not very well suited to one an- 
other, and that our engagement must be broken off, that 
was reason enough for his going away.” 

But not for his disappearing and leaving no address. 
I don’t wonder that people should believe the story of his 
having gone off to join the Russian lady abroad ; but I 
don’t believe it myself. I know Archie well enough to 
know that that isn’t the kind of thing he would do. He 
is too much of a gentleman.” 

It is usually the most simple and modest of men who 
take the most startling liberties. Bobby seemed to think 
it so much a matter of course that he should speak in this 
open way about a delicate subject, that Cicely, though as- 
tonished, could not feel offended with him. She said : — 

“ Gentlemen have been known to act in that way before 
now, I believe. However, I haven’t inquired and don’t 
mean to inquire into the truth of the report that you have 
heard. The reason which I gave you just now is a suffi- 
cient one/’ 

“ Yes, if it is a genuine one,” answered Bobby gravely ; 
“ but is it? I used to think that you would marry Archie 
to please your father ; but afterwards I wasn’t so sure. It 
was a great deal more likely that you cared for him for his 
own sake. Did you care for him for his own sake ? ” 

Well, this was a tolerably cool question, and if Bobby 
had not looked so serious over it. Cicely would have been 
almost inclined to laugh. As it was, she only said : — 

“ One may care a great deal for people whom one does 
not think it advisable to marry.” 

Bobby thought her answer somewhat ambiguous ; but, 
such as it was, he had to content himself with it ; for now 
the colloquy was interrupted by Sir George and Mr. Chet- 
wode, the latter of whom wished to say good-bye. After 
he had retired. Cicely took her visitors on to the Priory, 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


297 


where they found Miss Skipwith and were refreshed with tea; 
but nothing further of an interesting nature was discussed 
except the capture of that slave-dhow, an episode which 
was not only uninteresting but was rapidly becoming hate- 
ful to the person who had been chiefly concerned therein. 

“ May I come and see you again some day soon ? ” he 
asked, as he took leave of Cicely ; and he received in reply 
a smiling assurance that he would always be welcome. 

This assurance, however, was more satisfactory to Sir 
George, who overheard it, than to its recipient. However 
innocent and simple one may be, one knows what deduc- 
tion to draw from a too ready display of cordiality 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

CICELY IS INCENSED. 

“ Well,*’ said Sir George, as he walked away with his son, 
‘‘ how did you get on ? Able to report progress, eh ? I 
did the best I could for you, you know.” 

‘‘ I am still rather in the dark,” answered Bobby ; “ I 
hadn’t time to ask many questions. But from what she 
told me, I’m more convinced than ever that there is some 
mistake or misunderstanding about Archie.” 

Oh, Archie be bothered ! He has chosen to make a 
bolt for it, and who cares whether he is playing the fool in 
Paris with Madame Stick-in-the-Mud or whether he is dis- 
porting himself in Jericho ! ” 

“ I think Miss Bligh cares,” said Bobby, quietly. 

The deuce you do ! ” returned his father, glancing 
sharply at him. “ What makes you think that ? ” 

‘‘ I can’t tell you exactly — her whole manner, I suppose. 
She didn’t say much ; but I could see that she felt a good 
deal. I fancy that if she hadn’t cared for him she would 
have made some effort to find out the truth. ’ She must 
know very well that he wouldn’t have vanished in that way 
just because of some lover’s quarrel.” 

H’m ! You’ve heard what your sister thinks about it ? ” 
‘‘ Yes ; and I daresay she is right to some extent. It 
isn’t at all improbable that Chetwode would like to step 
into Archie’s shoes, and — and he’s a shifty-looking fellow : 


298 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


I don’t fancy those shallow eyes of his. Oh, yes ; I shouldn’t 
wonder if he was dangerous ; only I should want a little 
more proof before I believe that legend about Madame 
Souravieff. You see, I’ve known Archie all my life, and ” 

“ God bless me ! ” broke in his father, impatiently, “ one 
would think that you wanted to whitewash the fellow ! 
Would it give you any particular satisfaction to drag him 
back by the hair of his head and marry him to a girl whose 
shoes he isn’t fit to black ? ” 

“It would, if I thought she wished it. Anyhow, it 
would give me satisfaction to get at the truth. And, you 
know, there isn’t the slightest hope for me.” 

“ I know nothing of the kind,” Sir George declared. • 

“ Well, I know it ; and as I can’t have what I want, I 
should like her to have what she wants. I don’t believe 
she wants to marry Chetwode — yet.” 

Sir George threw up his hands, tossed his head and 
snorted. 

“ Oh dear ! Oh dear ! ” he exclaimed, “ what fools we 
all are when we are young, and how little use our wisdom 
is to us when we have grown old ! If only I were in 
this fellow’s place. I’d undertake to put everything right in 
a brace of shakes. Don’t I know that girls can be made 
to fall in love with any man who is young and good-look- 
ing — especially when he has his arm in a sling ! But do 
you suppose for a moment that this little Don Quixote is 
going to profit by his advantages? Not he! What he 
proposes to do is to back up one of his rivals, who has 
retired from the contest, and to let the other step in and 
carry off the prize. There’s a pretty sort of a raving lunatic 
for you I ” 

“ But I don’t mean Chetwode to carry off the prize, if I 
can help it,” objected Bobby, mildly. “ I suspect — but 
perhaps I had better not say what I suspect yet awhile. 
At all events, you may be quite sure that if I thought I had 
any chances, or advantages, as you call them. I shouldn’t 
hesitate to use them.” 

“ That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say,” 
grunted Sir George. 

Now, what Bobby suspected was that Mark had some- 
how or other been instrumental in procuring Archie’s 
removal from the scene ; and that his conjecture should 
have been so correct is a remarkable instance of the kind 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


299 


of acuteness which goes with simplicity. Archie, he 
reasoned, assuredly had not fled from home and friends on 
account of any difference that might have arisen between 
him and Cicely. Somebody, therefore, must have induced 
him, either by misrepresentations or in some other way, to 
disappear ; and who, except Mark Chetwode, had an inter- 
est in his disappearance? Bobby, at all events, could 
think of no one else ; but he resolved to make such inquir- 
ies as he could and to keep his weather eye open. 

And no doubt it was a very sound instinct that prompted 
him to apply in the first instance to the rector of the 
parish, Mr. Lowndes being so reasonable and sensible a 
man. Bobby simply put it to this refreshingly sane person 
whether it was or was not credible that Archie had been 
guilty of the folly imputed to him, and Mr. Lowndes 
answered unhesitatingly : — 

“ My dear boy, of course it’s incredible, and I have said 
so all along. But don’t you know that incredible things 
are always sure to be believed? And, unfortunately, 
Archie has given people a right to form any conjectures 
they please about him. I did send a letter after him ; but 
he hasn’t taken any notice of it, and I can only suppose 
that he is under some influence of which I am ignorant. I 
don’t mean Madame Souravieff’s influence.” 

“ Exactly so,” agreed Bobby : “ that is just my own 
idea. And whose influence do you mean ? ” 

Mr. Lowndes was rather reluctant to commit himself to 
a decided expression of opinion ; but when Mark Chet- 
wode’s name was suggested to him, he admitted that the 
surmise did not lack plausibility. 

And since you seem to be interested in the unravelling 
of this mystery,” he added, “ I will tell you another thing. 
That old rascal Coppard knows something. His conscience 
is not at ease, and he has been asking me questions about 
Mr. Chetwode which mere curiosity won’t account for. If 
I were a Roman Catholic priest I would get it out of him 
at once ; only then, I suppose, I shouldn’t be allov/ed to 
fell. As it'is, he pretends to be partially imbecile when I 
try to cross-examine him.” 

Bobby made a mental note upon the subject and, after a 
little further conversation, pursued his way to the Priory, 
whither he was bound. * He wanted to hear something rather 
more definite from Cicely than he had heard in the course 


300 


MISAD VENTURE, 


of their first interview. Both Miss Bligh and Miss Skip- 
with were out, he was infotmed, on reaching his destination ; 
but as this was not a mere formal visit, he did not content 
himself with leaving his card, but having ascertained that 
Cicely generally came home soon after five o’clock, said he 
would stroll about the garden until she returned. That 
her approach would be from the direction of Abbotsport 
seemed probable j so he passed along the lawns and ter- 
races and between long beds, gay with dahlias and other 
autumnal flowers, until he reached the little iron gate 
whence a footpath led across the falling ground df the park 
towards the village. There he halted, and leaning over the 
fence, awaited events with a somewhat sombre countenance. 
Because, after all, it is very possible to be a little Don 
Quixote without finding the part an exhilarating one. 

He did not, however, have to chew the cud of his medita- 
tions until it turned hopelessly bitter in his mouth ; for 
scarcely five minutes had elapsed before Cicely hove in 
sight. She was making her way slowly up the hill, and by 
her side, as Bobby was not at all surprised to see, walked 
Mark Chetwode. Somehow he had felt certain that Mark 
would be with her, and the fulfillment of his expectations 
only had the effect of making him mutter : — 

“ No, you don’t, my fine fellow ! Not if I can help it at 
least.” 

But he had an amiable smile ready for Cicely and a 
courteous greeting for her companion, who, being taken by 
surprise, looked annoyed for about a second. Mark seldom 
looked annoyed or surprised or anything else for more than 
a second. His countenance speedily became a total blank, 
and while Cicely was saying civil things to the intruder, he 
debated with himself whether he should go on to the house 
and have a cup of tea or not. He decided that he would 
not; for he knew that, if this troublesome nautical person- 
age had anything of a disagreeable nature to say, he would 
sooner or later find some opportunity of saying it, and it 
was just as well to let him say it now and get it over. 
That Bobby had been, and probably still was, enamored 
of Cicely he was quite well aware ; but that in itself could 
hardly be regarded as an alarming circumstance. He there- 
fore excused himself from accepting the invitation which 
was presently extended to him, and scarcely was he out of 
sight when Bobby, with that directness which seems to be 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


301 


one of the many pleasing and salutary results of a sea- 
faring life, remarked : — 

“ Archie is worth half a dozen of him, anyhow.” 

You may as well make it a dozen while you are at it,” 
said Cicely, who was not altogether pleased to find that 
Archie had so warm a partizan in that unexpected quarter. 
“ Why do things by halves ? ” 

“ VVell, I don’t mind saying a dozen,” answered Bobby 
generously. “ Do you agree ? ” 

“ Oh, that’s another question. I suppose people and 
things are Worth just what we happen to think them worth, 
and I daresay Archie might be worth a dozen of Mr. Chet- 
wodes to you.” 

“ But not to you ? ” 

“ No, since you ask me, he is not worth quite so much as 
that to me. Will you come in and have some tea now ? ” 

“ Presently, if I may ; but I am afraid we shall find your 
aunt in the room, and while we are alone I want to beg 
once more for the answer which you wouldn’t give me the 
other day. I want to know whether you really loved 
Archie or not ? ” 

“ Do you indeed ? You are a very determined person, 
Mr. Dare ” 

“ You used to call me Bobby once upon a time,” inter- 
polated her companion. 

“ Yes ; but now that you have become so stern and 
dictatorial, I can’t venture to be as familiar as I was once 
upon a time. I was going to say that you are a very 
determined person, and that I don’t wonder at Arab slave- 
dealers being frightened of you.” 

“ They weren’t much frightened ; nor are you. Please, 
give me an answer.” 

“ I did give you one the other day, though I might have 
claimed the right to refuse it. I told you that one may 
easily have a sincere affection for a man whom one does 
not wish to marry.” 

“ Only that’s no answer at all, you see. What I want to 
get at is whether you were glad or 'sorry to lose him ? ” 

“ But — may I make so bold as to remind you that I am 
not being tried by court-martial ? I’m afraid you’ll have 
to be satisfied with hearing what has satisfied other people. 
Archie-and I couldn’t agree ; so we parted — that’s all. If 
you are meditating doing us a service by bringing us 


302 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


together again, let me assure you that we shouldn’t like it. 
You would never be able to manage anything of the kind j 
still you had better be spared the trouble of trying.” 

“ I haven’t a doubt that I should be doing Archie a 
service,” remarked Bobby musingly ; “ but I confess that 
I am not quite as anxious to serve him as to serve you, 
and I am not sure what your wishes are. Would it make 
any difference if I could tell you what made him take to 
his heels ? ” 

“ Can you tell me ? ” asked Cicely, quickly. 

“ Then she doesn’t know, and she is anxious to know,” 
thought Bobby to himself. He answered : “ Not now ; but 
I may contrive to find out before long. Meanwhile, I hope 
you’ll beware of that man Chetwode.” 

‘‘ I don’t quite understand you,” said Cicely, drawing 
herself up a little. “Why should I beware of Mr. Chet- 
wode ? ” 

“ I can’t help fancying that he is at the bottom of this 
business. It’s only an idea, and I haven’t any proofs as 
yet ; but ” 

“ Then, really,” interrupted Cicely, “ I don’t think you 
ought to say such things. As a matter of fact he had no 
more to do with Archie’s going away than you had. What 
motive could he have for interfering between us ? ” 

“ Well, that’s just it, you see : the motive stares one in 
the face. Everybody says he wants to replace Archie. 
Of course, I don’t blame him for that.” 

“ How noble of you not to blame him for these inten- 
tions of his which everybody knows about ! ” exclaimed 
Cicely, scornfully. “ The only thing that you blame him 
for, it appears, is having kidnapped Archie — for I suppose 
you must think that Archie was kidnapped.” 

“ Oh, that doesn’t necessarily follow.” 

“ Spirited away, then, in some unexplained fashion. At 
all events, your sapience has persuaded you that Mr. 
Chetwode is a profound schemer. Well, since you take 
such an unselfish interest in my affairs, it is only fair that 
you should be told what Mr. Chetwode really is. He is 
about the best friend I have in the world. He has been 
kindness itself to me in all my troubles, and I can talk to 
him as I can talk to nobody else — because other people 
seem to be so hopelessly idiotic — and you may feel sure 
that L shall not cease to treat him as a friend on account 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


303 


of the duplicity which you and ‘everybody’ have been 
clever enough to discover.” 

Cicely, who had a fine color in her cheeks, was evidently 
much incensed, and perhaps it did not mollify her very 
much to be assured that the interest which Bobby took in 
her affairs was of a purely unselfish nature. 

“ In spite of what you say,” he declared, “ 1 don’t 
believe you care for that demi-semi Russian, and I do 
believe that you care for Archie. I suppose I mustn’t 
venture to call myself your friend; but I mean to act as 
your friend, if I can, all the same.” 

“ I think you are very officious and very impertinent,” 
Cicely was provoked into saying. 

Thereupon Bobby apologized humbly enough. He said 
he could quite understand that he must appear to be both, 
and perhaps he ought not to have spoken out so plainly 
what was in his mind. Nevertheless, he could not retract 
his words. Time would show whether he was right or 
not. 

“ I hope,” answered Cicely, “ that if time shows you 
nothing else, it will show you the senselessness of listening 
to gossip and taking it for gospel.” 

There was no answer to be made to that well-merited 
rebuke, and Bobby attempted none. He went into the 
house and had some tea and departed, shortly afterwards, 
without having attained the object of his visit, except in so 
far as that Cicely’s language had confirmed his previous 
suspicions. She had never said that she did not love 
Archie, and she had made it tolerably plain to a disinte- 
rested outsider that there was danger of her accepting 
Chetwode out of pique. The disinterested outsider was 
of opinion that such a calamity must be averted at all 
hazards. 


CHAPTER XL. 

BOBBY AS A DETECTIVE. 

In that mild autumnal season the Abbotsport fish-trade 
was very dull. The villagers, it is true, were in no 
immediate want, because, being of an amphibious nature, 


304 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


they had lately been doing a little work (which they hated) 
in helping to get in the harvest, and had received the 
wages which were their due. Still rent-day was drawing 
near, and the herring could not be expected for many 
weeks to come, and there seemed to be no better use for 
an unemployed working man to make of his time than to 
lounge over the bar at the Seven Stars and discourse 
gravely about the many troubles and anxieties which beset 
all mortals in this hard world. Nothing lessens trouble so 
much as talking about it, and no one can talk upon any 
subject for an hour at a stretch without requiring to 
quench his thirst; so that if times were slack for some 
people, they were busy enough for the landlord of the 
Seven Stars, a sympathetic person, and one who was ever 
willing to allow credit to such of his customers as deserved 
it. 

Perhaps Mr. Coppard did not deserve it. At any rate, 
he had been given to understand that he would get no 
more of it, and thus it came to pass that that worthy man 
was seated in his own house one afternoon, with his elbows 
on his knees and deep dejection depicted upon his coun- 
tenance. Not only had he, for the reason above men- 
tioned, been foiled of his fixed purpose of getting very 
drunk on the previous evening, but, by a most unfortunate 
oversight, he had left a little hardly-earned money upon the 
kitchen table for a few minutes, where it had been found 
and promptly appropriated by Mrs. Coppard. Now this 
was an altogether irretrievable misfortune ; for Mrs. 
Coppard, as her husband often told her, was “ that thrift- 
less ” that whenever she obtained possession of any coin of 
the realm she immediately went and spent it. And now 
she had been buying boots for the children — as if anybody 
wanted boots at that time of year — and was proportion- 
ately good-humored and exultant. 

“ Well, ’tis something to have put ’ee in a good humor, 
anyway,” observed Coppard, with gloomy philosophy; 
“ that’s what don’t come about more’n once in a blue 
moon.” 

Mrs. Coppard from the back kitchen, where she was 
washing the family linen, shouted out a rejoinder which 
was doubtless appropriate, but the exact terms of which 
were inaudible. After a time she came in and stood, with 
her bare arms a-kimbo, contemplating her melancholy 
spouse. 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


305 


I do really b’lieve as you got somethin’ on your mind, 
Coppard,” she said at length. ‘‘ Want of liquor alone can’t 
account for such downheartedness.” 

“ Got the rent on my mind,” grunted Coppard. “ How 
be I to keep a roof over our heads when all my small savin’s 
goes to pay for your extra vapnces, I’d like to know ? ” 

“A tea- spoon’d be too big for to hold your savin’s,” 
returned his wife ; “ and as for rent, it’s little you trouble 
your mind about that. Well, you know as Miss Cicely 
wouldn’t see us turned out into the street.” 

Coppard sighed heavily. 

“ Miss Cicely,” said he, “ won’t remain single for ever ; 
’taint likely. And by the look o’ things, I doubt but she’ll 
get a ’ard man o’ business for her ’usband. That there 
Mr. Chetwode worn’t born yesterday, nor yet the day 
afore.” 

“ And you as couldn’t find language powerful enough to 
praise him in not so long ago ! ” remarked Mrs. Coppard, 
with a contemptuous sniff. “ As forme, I ain’t varied, not 
from the first. ‘ None o’ your slippery Rooshians for me,’ 
says I. I’d a deal sooner see poor Mr. Harchie back, 
though I don’t say as he behaved very considerate to us. 
And I shouldn’t wonder if you was repentin’ already, 
Coppard, of what you done for to avenge yourself upon 
that young gentleman.” 

In saying this Mrs. Coppard was merely drawing a bow 
at a venture ; but her husband’s demeanor seeemed to 
show that she had hit the mark. He raised his eyes, 
frowning angrily, and asked her what she meant by that, 
emphasizing his question with two or three strenuous 
adjectives. 

“ A man as comes ’ome fuddled with drink lets out 
more’n he remembers,” answered Mrs. Coppard darkly. 

Now, the truth was that Coppard had not let out much ; 
but for anything that he knew to the contrary, he might 
have let out a great deal, and the idea that he had betrayed 
himself naturally made him both frightened and wrathful. 
He was telling Mrs. Coppard in grim and concise language 
what would hapj^en to her if she hadn’t sense enough to 
keep her tongue within her teeth, when his harangue was 
interrupted by the rapping of somebody’s stick upon the 
door. This was immediately opened from without, and 
through the aperture was thrust the handsome face of 
Bobby Dare, who asked : — 


3o6 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


“ May I come in ? ’ 

“ Why, if ’tain’t Cap’n Dare ! ” exclaimed Coppard, 
jumping up. “ Come in, sir, and welcome. I did 'ear as 
you was back from the wars — and a terrible maulin’ you’ve 
’ad from them savages, they tell me.” 

“ Not very terrible,” answered Bobby. “ I’ve got a bad 
arm ; but that doesn’t prevent me from steering a boat or 
holding a line, and I thought I should rather like an after- 
noon’s fishing if you’d take me, Coppard.” 

Coppard assented readily. In the matter of payment he 
knew Mr. Dare to be animated by the feelings of a true 
gentleman, and he foresaw that it might yet be possible for 
him to spend an evening in congenial company at the 
Seyen Stars. Moreover, he was not sorry to escape from 
his wife, who was an alarming person when irritated, and 
who, even at the best of times, possessed a remarkable 
faculty of worming admissions out of those who would fain 
keep their own counsel. 

In less than a quarter of an hour, therefore, this much- 
enduring bread-winner was seated comfortably in a lugger 
which he had borrowed for the occasion (the owner being 
absent), while his employer, with the tiller under his arm, 
was holding a line over the side. As there was a fresh 
breeze blowing from the eastward, and as they were run- 
ning before it, there was not much likelihood of Mr. Dare’s 
catching many fish yet awhile ; but the reader will scarcely 
require to be informed that Mr. Dare was not at sea that 
day for the purpose of catching fish. And presently he 
began in a cautious fashion to feel his way towards the 
attainment of his private ends. 

“There have been great changes hereabouts since you 
and I were last in a boat together, Coppard,” he 
remarked. 

“ You may say that, sir,” agreed Coppard, shaking his 
head ; “ and none of ’em what you could call changes for 
the better neither. The old squire, he’s a sad loss to 
Abbotsport, and as to Mr. Morton, why, we don’t know 
what he might ha’ been if he’d lived. For we all has our 
faults, and we all looks to curin’ ourselves of ’em in doo 
season.” 

“Well — yes ; I suppose so. But as things have fallen 
out, you haven’t much to complain of, have you ? Miss 
Bligh will do all that her father ever did, I should think.” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


307 


“You won’t ’ear no two opinions in Abbotsport about 
Miss Cicely, sir. But what I feel, lookin’ forrard a bit, is 
that we’ve got to count with a young lady now, ’stead “of a 
young gentleman. And it’s only to be expected as youn^ 
ladies ’ll marry.” 

“ Oh, of course. And in point of fact she was very near 
marrying a man who would have managed the property 
admirably, I daresay. That was a curious affair — the 
engagement being broken off so suddenly.” 

“ Very cur’ous indeed, sir,’ answered Coppard, briefly. 

“ I don’t yet understand what the reason of it could have 
been,” Bobby went on ingenuously. “ Being away at the 
time, I have only heard rumors, and rumors are very 
seldom trustworthy.” 

Coppard grunted an assent to the general proposition, 
but did not seem inclined to say anything bearing upon the 
particular instance ; nor had further leading questions the 
effect of overcoming his reticence. He agreed that Archie’s 
disappearance was strange, and might even be considered 
unaccountable by some ; he did not deny that it might 
have been due to causes which were as yet unknown to 
the public, and he said it was no doubt a pity that the 
property should be in danger of passing out of the hands 
of the Bligh family ; but he would give no hint that 
he himself possessed more information upon the subject 
than the rest of the world. Under these circumstances, 
Bobby had recourse to persuasive measures for which no 
defence shall be attempted here. Drawing a flask* from 
his pocket, he remarked : — 

“ This easterly wind makes one feel as if it were January, 
a drop of whisky would do us both good, I think.” He 
then swallowed a mouthful from the silver cup, and filling 
it up again, handed it to Coppard, who conscientiously 
emptied it with a sigh of appreciation. 

“ Have another nip ? ” said the Machiavellian Bobby \ 
“ that thing doesn’t hold more than a thimbleful.” 

And when his invitation had been complied with he 
did not at once pursue the investigation with which he had 
made so little progress, but talked about the weather and 
the paucity of fish and one thing and another for a time. 
It was only when these topics seemed to be pretty well 
exhausted that he asked casually : 

“ What do you think of Mr. Chetwode, Coppard ? ’ 


3o8 


MISAD VENTURE, 


“ Well, sir,” answered Coppard, whom the whisky had 
certainly disposed towards a less distrustful attitude, 
b^wixt you and me, I really don’t know lohat to think 
of him.” 

“ Of course you know what people say — that he is mak- 
ing up to Miss Bligh.” 

“ I wouldn’t swear as people was makin’ any great mis- 
take there, sir.” 

“ And there seems to be an idea — though I daresay it’s 
quite an unfounded one — that he had something to do with 
getting Archie Bligh out of the place. You had better 
finish that whisky, Coppard ; you look chilled. As for 
me, I have been so thoroughly baked in the tropics that 
cold hardly affects me. Yes ; that is one of the rumors 
that I have heard.” 

After draining the flask to the dregs, Coppard ruminated 
awhile with much seriousness. Coppard had a conscience, 
and of late it had been causing him a good deal of uneasi- 
ness \ because further acquaintance with Mark Chetwode 
had not improved his opinion of that gentleman. That 
Mr. Chetwode loved Miss Cicely with an unselfish affec- 
tion now seemed to him to be doubtful. However, the 
man was a masterful man and might easily prove to be a 
hard landlord. Finally, he had never given any money at 
all to one who had rendered him the greatest assistance; 
and this, to say the least of it, was ungrateful. Still the 
danger of betraying him was too great to be faced by an 
honest man who wished to keep out of prison. What 
might be done, and perhaps ought to be done, was to put 
Bobby on the scent. If that cours,e of action should 
eventually lead to the retirement of Mr. Chetwode, well 
and good. If not, a sincere well-wisher of Miss Cicely’s 
would at least have done all in his power to promote her 
welfare. 

He accordingly said : — 

“ Well, sir, that’s a hidear as has occurred to some who 
ain’t no fools.” 

“ Including yourself, perhaps ? ” suggested Bobby. 

“ Thank’ee, sir; though may be I don’t deserve the 
compliment. But to be sure it don’t want a deal o’ wisdom 
to see ’twas Mr. Chetwode’s interest to get t’other young 
gentleman out of the way.” 

“ Just so. The only question is, how did he contrive 
it ? ” 


M/SA D VENTURE. 


309 


Ah,” said Coppard, “ there, sir, you have me. I’ll 
allow.” 

‘‘I suppose you can’t think of any way in which the 
thing might have been done ? ” 

Coppard was sorry to say that he really couldn’t. No- 
tions had come into his head ; but Captain Dare would 
understand that some notions were best not put into 
words. j 

‘‘ Oh, I’m not asking you to put anything into words, 
except what you know,” said Bobby. “ I don’t mind telling 
you that I am very anxious to get at the bottom of this 
mystery. Miss Bligh and I are old friends, and I shouldn’t 
like her to fall a prey to a fortune-hunter, if any efforts of 
mine could prevent it.” , 

“ ’Tis sailin’ a bit near the wind,” thought Coppard to 
himself ; “ howsomever I’ll risk it.” And he said ; — “ If 
you should ask me, sir, I believe you couldn’t do no 
better’n go straight to Mr. Chetwode and charge him with 
what you think he done. Press him ’ard, sir, and you’m 
bound to get a hanser out of him. I don’t say but what 
he may have knowed somethin’ to Mr. Harchie’s disad- 
vantage ; but if he did, that don’t excuse him from makin’ 
a mean use of his knowledge, you see, sir.” 

More than this could not be coaxed out of Coppard ; 
but it was obvious that he knew more, and that pressure 
might subsequently be brought to bear upon him, if neces- 
sary. Coppard ’s own forecast of what would happen was 
that Mr. Chetwode, when accused of having brought about 
Archie’s removal, would simply say : — “ Well, what if I did 
bring it about.'’ What if I know him to be the murderer 
of Miss Bligh’s brother?” “You’ll have to prove that,” 
Bobby would rejoin ; “ and even if you can prove it, it 
isn’t over and above likely that Miss Bligh will marry the 
informer.” Thus Mark might be checkmated, and Archie, 
being guilty, would not venture to return, and fixity of 
tenure might be assured for a certain length of time to 
those who owed rent to an unmarried lady. 

Bobby acted upon the advice offered to him because it 
accorded with his own ideas of straightforwardness. After 
he had been put ashore, he shaped his course for Upton 
Chetwode, and as he was nearing the house he overtook 
Mark himself, to whom he said ; — 

“ I was going to call upon you. I rather want to have a 
talk with you, if you’ll allow me.’* 


310 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


‘‘ I shall be charmed,” answered Mark urbanely. 

Well, I am not sure ‘that what I have to say will be 
exactly charming ; but perhaps you’ll excuse my saying it. 
The fact of the matter is that I believe you can tell me, if 
you choose, more than I know at present about Archie 
Bligh.” 

Mark shrugged his shoulders and laughed. 

“ How much do you know at present ? ” he inquired, 

“ I know what everybody knows, that he has absconded, 
and I know that no satisfactory reason has been given for 
his doing such an improbable thing.” 

“And you think that I can give you a satisfactory 
reason.? Well, it is true that, so far as I know, I was the 
last persqn whom he saw in Abbotsporl. He came to my 
lodgings the night before he left and told me that he had 
made up his mind to go away and to break off his engage- 
ment to his cousin.” 

“ Without offering an explanation.” 

“ I am not prepared to repeat all that passed in the 
course of a confidential interview. I may have received 
hints and I may have formed conjectures. Other people, 
as you are probably aware, have also formed conjectures.” 

“Yes ; but I am convinced that they are false. And I 
imagine that you know they are false.” 

“ Why should you imagine that, Mr. Dare ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you presently ; anyhow, I do imagine it. 
Amongst other conjectures which have been made, it has 
been conjectured, you know, that you are — in short that 
you are an admirer of Miss Biigh’s.” 

“Ah, yes; that was sure to be said,” remarked Mr. 
Chetwode, composedly. And he added, with a smile : 
“ Do you know, I have heard the same thing said about 
you ? ” 

“ I suppose that must have been before I went away. I 
don’t mind your knowing that I proposed to her and that 
she refused me ; there’s nothing to be ashamed of in that. 

But it is said — ^whether truly or not of course I can’t tell 

that you are thinking of proposing to her now ; and that 
naturally gives rise to a suspicion that you may have had 
something to do with Archie’s disappearance.” 

“ A suspicion on your part or on the part of the neigh- 
borhood generally ? ” asked Mark, still smiling. 

“ We’ll call it a suspicion on my part if you like. I’m 


MIS A D VENTURE, 


3 ” 


ready to apologize if you can show me that there is no 
foundation for it.” 

“ My dear sir, I am sorry that you should entertain sus- 
picions which are neither flattering nor warrantable ; but I 
must respectfully decline your invitation to prove a 
negative.” 

Bobby had scarcely expected that such an invitation 
would be complied with ; but he had another shot left in 
his locker, which he now fired. 

“ IVe just been talking to old Coppard,” he said sud- 
denly. 

Mark could not exactly be said to start; but there came 
an expression of alertness and inquiry into his face which 
sliowed that the statement was not without significance to 
him. He said : — 

“ Coppard, the boatman? Yes?” 

“ I have reason to think that Coppard is in possession of 
information which he hasn’t seen fit to impart to me. 
However, I got something like an admission from him that 
you could tell me what I want to know, if you chose.” 

Mark at once saw the danger of a direct denial. He 
answered : 

“ I might question your right to catechize me, Mr. Dare ; 
but I won’t do that. I will only take the liberty of warn- 
ing you that you are meddling with matters which it would 
perhaps be better, for everybody’s sake, to leave alone. 
Personally, I may say that I have nothing to fear from any 
inquiries or discoveries that you may make, and you must 
pardon my refusing to say another word upon the sub- 
ject.” 

To this determination he politely adhered, notwithstand- 
ing Bobby’s somewhat maladroit efforts to queeze him. 
Nevertheless, the latter did not go away discomfited ; for 
he now considered it to be beyond a doubt that Mark 
Chetwode had been concerned in Archie’s mysterious exit, 
and that same evening he wrote a long letter to his former 
rival, in which he said, amongst other things : — 

‘Mt is perfectly clear to me that Chetwode has scared 
you out of the place for purposes of his own, and if you 
don’t came back at once and face the trouble, whatever it 
may be, he will most likely succeed. I haven’t an idea 
what you have done, or are supposed to have done ; but I 
daresay there aren’t a great many men who would like the 


312 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


whole history of their lives to be told to the woman whom 
they love, and I don’t believe that there are many women 
worth anything who wouldn’t be willing to forgive and 
forget the past. I mustn’t presume to answer for Miss 
Bligh ; but my impression is that she cares a good deal 
more for you than she does for that cold-blooded beggar. 
All the same, it isn’t a bit unlikely that she will marry him 
if you don’t come back and stand up for yourself.” 

This persuasive epistle Bobby despatched to Archie’s 
club, the address of which he had obtained from Mr. 
Lowndes, and it may be hoped that after laying down his 
pen he experienced the reward which virtue is said to carry 
with it. For he himself was no whit less in love with 
Cicely than he had always been, and although he was 
strenuously opposed to her marrying Mark Chetwode, it 
could not be an unmixed pleasure to him to see her 
married to anybody else.” 


CHAPTER XLI. 

ARCHIE IS MADE TO WAIT. 

Immediately after his arrival in London, Archie presented 
the letters of introduction with which Mark Chetwode 
had been kind enough to supply him, and met with a 
reception which was, upon the whole, as friendly as he had 
any right to expect. If he had not been utterly reckless 
and indifferent, he might have thought twice before placing 
himself without reserve at the disposal of persons whose 
appearance and manners were scarcely such as to inspire 
unlimited confidence ; but he really did not care in the 
least what became of him, and, as he told them, the more 
dangerous the service upon which they might see fit to 
employ him, the better he would be pleased. There were 
a good many of them ; they were of both sexes and appa- 
rently of almost every social grade ; it did not strike him 
that they were very much in earnest, nor was he greatly 
impressed by the patriotism to which they laid claim. 
Still the ceremony of his initiation was impressive enough, 
and they all agreed in assuring him that stirring events 
were at hand. If danger was what he wished for, they said. 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


313 


there was every probability of his wishes being gratified 
before long. He gathered that there was going to be a 
simultaneous rising in Bulgaria and Montenegro, that the 
King of Servia was to be deposed, and that an outbreak 
in Macedonia might be counted upon as certain to follow ; 
but his informants were chary of details — indeed he sus- 
pected that they themselves did not possess very accurate 
information — and he was somewhat curtly instructed to 
await orders and refrain from superfluous questions. 

What seemed to give his fellow-conspirators a more 
favorable idea of him than they had entertained at the 
outset, was the discovery that he had plenty of ready 
money. When it was made clear to them that he was 
prepared not only to pay his own expenses but to make a 
handsome contribution to the general fund, they became 
quite pleasant and good-humored, and some of them even 
went the length of advising him to remain where he was 
for the present. That was evidently what they proposed 
to do, and they pointed out that there are many better 
ways of serving a good cause than dying for it. But 
Archie, who wanted to die — or at all events thought that 
he did — confessed candidly that he had no predilection 
for one cause rather than another, and begged that he 
might be despatched without delay to any place in which 
fighting was likely to occur. 

“ In the way of fighting I may be of some use to you,” 
he said ; “ but I doubt whether you’ll find me much of an 
acquisition in any other respect. Diplomacy isn’t in my 
line.” 

It was a relief to him when at length the desired march- 
ing orders reached him, though these were not quite as 
precise as he could have wished. He was to proceed to 
Athens and there await further instructions. His ultimate 
destination might possibly be Salonica ; but this was un- 
certain. At any rate, efforts would be made to procure 
for him the command of a body of irregular cavalry. He 
was, however, reminded at the last moment of the obliga- 
tion which he had taken upon himself, and was cautioned 
that he had no right to select the manner of his employ- 
ment. That was a point for the decision of his superiors. 

Probably very few people know what despair means, 
and it may be surmised that a man who is literally des- 
pairing almost always puts an end to himself. This was 


314 


M/S A D VENTURE. 


in point of fact what Archie intended to do ; for he waS' 
resolved not to survive his first battle, and in the meantime 
he felt that he was to all intents and purposes dead already. 
He was not conscious of being particularly miserable, 
though he was never free from a dull pain about the region 
of the heart. He managed to eat and sleep ; the only 
strong emotion that he experienced was one of impatience, 
and his only dread was that he might be severely wounded 
without being killed outright. The long journey to Brin- 
disi reminded him every now and then that he had 
traversed the same ground under very different circum- 
stances on his return from India ; but the memory caused 
him very little pain. The Archie Bligh of those days 
seemed to him to have been a youth whom he had once 
known intimately, but in whom he no longer felt much 
interest. He was sorry for the poor fellow, to whom fate 
had been so exceptionally cruel ; yet he scarcely identified 
himself with that luckless being. 

And when he had taken his passage from Brindisi on 
the Austrian Lloyd’s steamer, and the snow-capped sum- 
mits of the Acroceraunian coast came in sight, and later 
on, when he sat on deck staring moodily at the olive-groves 
and vineyards and the sunny slopes of the Ionian Islands, 
and later still, when the Gulf of Corinth had been entered 
and the bare, purple mountains of the Peloponnesus rose 
in jagged outlines against the southern sky, neither the 
scenery nor the exquisite coloring, nor all the associations 
that belong to that renowned land, availed to rouse him 
from his apathy. The impertinent little modern city 
upon which the majestic Parthenon looks down ; the 
almost perfect Theseum, which he could discern from the 
window of the railway carriage ; the columns of the fallen 
Temple of Jupiter Olympius ; and Lycabettus and brown 
Hymettus and distant Pentelicus — all these interested him 
no more than the chimneys of Birmingham or Manchester 
would have done. To him Athens was but a halting-place 
on his way towards an inevitable goal, and all he desired 
was that his halt might be made brief. 

However, he had to spend a restless week amidst those 
classic scenes ; for the Russian gentlemen who received 
him, and who were civil enough, did not seem to know 
very well what they were to do with their recruit, nor could 
they tell him much about the projected rising. Doubtless 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


315 


instructions would reach them in the course of a day or 
two, they said. Meanwhile, would he be so good as to 
behave like a tourist and avoid mentioning the name of 
Bulgaria to anybody ? They were living, they explained, 
amongst people who were naturally hostile to their schemes, 
and any indiscretion on his part might render their posi- 
tion most uncomfortable. Consequently, a laconic behest 
which they received from Constantinople was no less 
welcome to them than it was to him. He was to report 
himself at the latter city, it appeared, and it was added 
that work would be found for him before long. 

“ Work means active service, I presume,” said Archie, 
who was beginning to feel some uneasy doubts as to the 
reality of this mysterious campaign, but his colleagues 
could only shrug their shoulders and reply that they hoped 
so. Their business, for the time being, was merely to 
observe and report upon the state of public feeling in 
Greece ; the plans of those in authority were not usually 
revealed to subordinates until the moment for action had 
arrived. At Constantinople, however, he would meet with 
more influential and better informed persons. 

To Constantinople, therefore, he went, and if the persons 
to whom he duly presented himself there were more influ- 
ential than those with whom he had previously had to 
deal, they were also more reticent and a good deal more 
suspicious. To what race or races they belonged, Archie 
did not discover ; but he gathered that some of them were 
Russians and some Bulgars. They could not or would 
not speak English, and it was in French — a language with 
which he was about as familiar as the ordinary British 
officer — that he had to reply to endless interrogatories. 
Again and again he was questioned as to his motives, and 
his reiterated answer that he simply wished, for private 
reasons of his own, to take part in some forlorn hope, was 
evidently not found satisfactory. As for the raising of 
that body of irregular horse of wfliich he had heard, the 
black-browed, saturnine individual, who was most active 
in cross-examining him, seemed to be faintly amused by 
the mention of such a project, but merely observed that 
Mr. Bligh would be told at the proper time what was 
required of him. 

The proper time had apparently not yet come for the 
onlv orders that Archie received were to attend occasional 


3i6 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


meetings in a dirty little back room in Galata, where lengthy 
discussions took place in a tongue unknown to him, and 
where his presence was for the most part ignored. The 
hotel in which he had taken up his quarters was close, 
dirty and evil-smelling. It was almost empty, for at that 
season of the year everybody who could escape from 
Consta*ntinople had moved to the shores of the Bosphorus, 
and in order to avoid exciting suspicions, he thought it 
best to engage a dragoman and have himself conducted to 
St. Sophia and the bazaars of Stamboul and the other sights 
which it is the duty of tourists to visit. It was weary 
work, and the dragoman was annoyed because he could 
not even pretend to take an interest in anything that was 
shown to him. He fancied, too, that his footsteps were 
dogged ; though whether by an agent of the police or by 
an emissary of his fellow-conspirators he neither knew nor 
cared. Both were very welcome to keep an eye upon him, 
and if it should seem advisable to the latter to have him 
murdered, he had no objection. 

But at length he fell in with one fellow-ct)nspirator who 
cheered him up a little. This was a certain Theodori, a 
Greek or Levantine by birth, but a cosmopolitan by choice 
and force of circumstances, and, as it seemed, a trusted 
member of the Panslavonic Society. Theodori was a 
middle-aged man with a very dark complexion, a good- 
humored mouth, beady black eyes, and hair which was 
rapidly turning grey. He followed Archie away from one 
of the solemn meetings above-mentioned, caught him up 
and addressed him in excellent English. 

“ All this is a bore to you, is it not, Mr. Bligh ? ” he 
asked. 

“ It is a great bore to be kept here in idleness,’' answered 
Archie. “ I don’t know what they are talking about, and 
I don’t know what they mean to do. Sometimes I doubt 
whether they mean to do anything at all.” 

“ Oh, they mean to do something : it is even possible 
that they may succeed in doing it. But tliey have many 
difficulties to contend against ; not the least of which is that 
they have to count with people upon whom they can’t 
implicitly rely.” 

“ They certainly don’t seem to rely upon me,” observed 
Archie. “ I rather think they have put on a spy to watch 
me.” 


MIS A D VENTURE. 


317 

That is quite possible. You see, they do not know- 
much about Englishmen, and you are rather a puzzle to 
them. I suppose I may take it for granted that you care 
for the future of Bulgaria just as much, as I do — which is 
nothing at all.” 

“ They appear to have confidence in you.” 

‘‘ Well, I have earned it. For many years past I have 
been concerned in every plot and revolution that has taken 
place in Europe ; it is well known that I have no money, 
except what I receive in return for services rendered, and 
it is thought that I have generally earned my pay. Besides, 
I am free from scruples of any kind. You, on the other 
h^nd, have yet to win your spurs ; and you must pardon 
these gentlemen if they don’t feel altogether sure of you.” 

“ I shall be very happy to show them that I can fight, if 
they give me the chance,” said Archie. 

Theodori laughed. 

“ Ah, my dear sir, that is not a great thing to be able to 
do. I do not wish to depreciate your valor ; but I have 
seen so much fighting in my time that I cannot attach any 
great value to the fighting men. Physical cowardice in 
battle is not, believe me, a common failing.” 

“ All the same,” answered Archie, “ I don’t believe you 
will meet every day with a man who would rather be killed 
than not.” 

Theodori stood still under a lamp, lighted a cigar and 
looked into his companion’s eyes. 

“ Quite true ? ” he asked. “ Not a figure of speech ? ” 

“ It is quite true,” replied Archie, that I am tired of 
life, and that my only wish is to die.” 

The other contemplated him half ironically, half com- 
passionately for a moment. 

I will report your words to the committee, if you like,” 
he said. * They have not been very cordial with you, I 
know ; but they are not wanting in humanity, and perhaps 
it is for your own sake that they have hesitated to employ 
you in enterprises which would almost certainly cost you 
your life.” 

“ If so, their kindness has been entirely misplaced,” 
Archie declared. “ From the first I have always said that 
to lose my life was the very thing I wanted.” 

‘‘ Oh, well,” laughed Theodori, “ that is what a great 
many young people say.” 


3*8 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


He did not seem inclined to pursue the subject ; but he 
returned to Archie’s hotel with him, and drank two-thirds 
of a bottle of champagne with evident satisfaction, and 
narrated amusingly enough many of the episodes of an 
adventurous life. Archie liked the man, who indeed had 
the kind of fascination which belongs to recklessness and 
unscrupulousness, and who seemed to understand the 
nature of his case pretty well without asking questions 
about it. The two became friends after a fashion. They 
met every day, and Theodori, after vainly endeavoring to 
give the Englishman an insight into the menus plaisirs of 
Pera, found a horse for him and took him out for rides 
into the country. 

Well, that horse was a great comfort to poor Archie. 
He was utterly miserable and sick at heart ; he was with- 
out hope and beyond all possibility of consolation ; yet, 
dead though his heart might be, his body was still alive, 
and to feel a spirited animal under him made the blood 
course more; quickly through his veins, whether he wished 
it or not. Theodori, cantering beside him, used to throw 
queer, scrutinizing glances at him from time to time, much 
as a doctor will scrutinize a patient, and almost always his 
examination ended with a sigh. 

“ My dear Bligh,” he said, one evening, when they had 
drawn rein in the Sweet Water Valley, and were gazing 
down the Golden Horn, ^‘does'it not sometimes occur to 
you that you are a very great fool? Life is pleasant even 
to me, who am poor and friendless and growing old ; what 
must it not be to you, who are young and rich and have 
nothing the matter with you, except that you have been 
crossed in love ! Gh, I allow that it hurts very much to 
be crossed in love — it is worse even than a bad toothache 
— yet one survives it and forgets it, as one survives and 
forgets everything. Do you know what I wouM do if I 
were you ? I would embark aboard the very first steamer 
that leaves this port for England, and I would stay in my 
own country for a good long time to come. People are 
not stabbed in England.” 

“ You mean that if I threw our friends over and re- 
mained here, they would have me murdered ? ” 

“ There is ho doubt at all about that.” 

“ Then if the worst comes to the worst, I can throw 
them over. You don’t know how I am situated, Theodori ; 
there is really nothing for me to do but to die.” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


3^9 


“ For the sake of some woman, I presume ? ” 

“Well, yes; but I am not simply the love-sick youth 
that you take me for. I can’t tell you my story ; only, if 
you heard it, you would see tliat there is nothing insane 
in my wishing for death.” 

“ It is a pity,” said Theodori musingly. And after they 
had put their horses in motion again and had joggedion 
for some little time in silence, he added : “ You will get 
your wish, I think. These men, who probably seem to 
you a vaporing set of fellows, with more bark than bite in 
them, are quite in earnest, and they have some dangerous 
work to do. They are kind enough to say that I am too 
valuable to be sacrificed, otherwise I imagine they would 
have employed me.” 

“ In what way ? ” asked Archie quickly. 

“ That I should not be allowed to tell you, if I knew. 
But I don’t know. I merely guess. You and I have only 
to obey orders, with an encouraging certainty of being put 
to death if we are insubordinate. After all, that simplifies 
matters very much, and relieves one of all sense of 
responsibility.” 

“ Yes,” agreed Archie rather hesitatingly ; for his com- 
panion’s remarks had suggested an unwelcome idea to him. 
Presently he asked : — “ Would you assassinate a man if you 
were ordered to do it, Theodori ? ” 

“ Oh, dear me, yes ! Why not? In the first place, I 
should be compelled to do it ; in the second place, the 
man would probably deserve it ; finally, I have no objec- 
tion to taking human life in cases of necessity, d'hat is a 
principle which is universally admitted, you know. Thou- 
sands of lives are taken for the sake of altering a frontier- 
line ; and it is only in quite recent times that civilized 
nations have given up *exccuting their criminals for theft.” 

“ Still, I suppose you Wouldn’t like to be an execu- 
tioner ? ” 

“ Not for choice,” answered Theodori, laughing. 
“ However, I have never been ordered to execute any- 
body, and I daresay I never shall be.” 

He put his horse into a gallop, and no more was said 
until they entered the streets of Stamboul. Then he would 
talk about nothing but the charms of a certain singer 
whom he had seen the night before at a caf e- chant a7it. a 
subject which possessed no interest for Archie. But after 


320 


MISADVENTURE, 


crossing the Galata Bridge, where they parted, he said 
suddenly : — 

“ You won’t take my advice and ship yourself off home, 
then ? ” 

Archie shook his head. 

“ That is impossible ! ” he answered. 

“ Well,” said Theodori for the second time, it is a pity. 
Good-night.” 


CHAPTER XLII. 

THEODORI DECLINES A FORTUNE. 

It was probably in consequence of favorable reports 
received from Theodori that Archie’s distrustful masters 
became more friendly with him and assumed a less guarded 
attitude when he was present at their councils. Some of 
them began to address him in his own language, with which 
they appeared to be somewhat better acquainted than he 
was with any foreign tongue, and through them he learnt 
something of the alleged position of affairs in Bulgaria. 
The people, he was told, were thoroughly dissatisfied with 
their present ruler, and dreaded the inevitable results of the 
policy that he was pursuing ; the clergy were against him to 
a man, and it was only in deference to the expressed wishes 
of certain exalted personages that a revolution had been 
staved off so long. What was certain was that the coming 
revolution would have a very different and much more de- 
cisive outcome than the last. And perhaps it was in order 
to remove any patriotic misgivings which this Englishman 
might be expected to feel that so much stress was laid upon 
the perfect disinterestedness of Russia in the matter. 
Russia, he was assured, fully recognized the independent 
character of the races whom she had freed from the Tur- 
kish yoke, and there was no greater mistake than to 
suppose, as many people did, that the Bulgarians, by 
reason of their long enslavement, had not in them the 
makings of a nation. Another very great mistake was the 
time-honored belief that Russia coveted Constantinople ; 
and it was shown to him by arguments which he did not 
quite follow that the possession of that city would be a 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


321 


source of weakness, not of strength, to the great northern 
empire which was charged with a desire to shift its capital 
to the shores of the Bosphorus, The infidel, it was true, 
would be eventually driven out of Europe, that was what 
every intelligent man must perceive ; but it was desirable 
for the peace and security of all the European nations 
that a small state, guaranteed by the greater ones, should 
be placed in a position of such geographical importance. 
Well, the Greeks had been tried and found wanting ; it 
was now the turn of the Slavs ; and although the establish- 
ment of a Slav kingdom might still be somewhat distant, 
England, not less than the other powers, was interested in 
working towards that solution of the thorny Eastern 
question. 

To all this Archie assented with a good deal of indiffe- 
rence. He could not have fought against his own country- 
men, but there was not the, slightest danger of his being 
called upon to do that ; and as he was sure to be dead and 
buried long before a general war could break out, he felt 
justified in disregarding considerations of high politics. 
From what particular pattern of rifle the bullet might be 
discharged which would relieve him of all further partici- 
pation in earthly quarrels did not seem to him to signify 
very much. Only he wished that his death-warrant might 
be made out with as little delay as possible. 

One morning, his banker, whom he had been obliged to 
inform of his whereabouts, forwarded him a batch of letters, 
amongst which was the artless effusion penned by Bobby 
Dare. Archie was greatly- touched by it ; for he knew 
very well what the sentiments and aspirations of his cor- 
respondent had once been, and indeed no secret was made 
of these. 

‘‘ I have loved Cicely Bligh ever since I was a small 
boy,” wrote Bobby, “ and I suppose I may look upon my- 
self as an unusual example of constancy ; but she never 
took me seriously and she never will. That doesn’t pre- 
vent my loving her still, and wishing her to marry the man 
whom I believe she loves. If it is a race between you and 
Chetwode, I know whom I want to win.” 

Other extracts from this letter have already been quoted. 
Of course Archie could not be influenced by it ; but it 
softened his heart, and brought the tears into his eyes, 
though he judged it best to return no answer. 


322 


M/SAD F^A'TC/^E. 


After all, there are some really good fellows as well as 
a lot of consummate rascals in this wretched world,” he 
thought. “ Chetwode may be a rascal, and I shouldn’t 
be much surprised if he was ; yet I don’t see how he could 
have dealt differently with me. If I had been in his place, 
I suppose I shouldn’t have allowed Cicely to marry the man 
who had caused her brother’s death. And if he wishes to 
marry her himself, he has a right to try. I don’t believe 
she’ll take him, though. I’d rather think of her as married 
to that honest fellow Bobby.” 

But even this prospect, somehow, could not be contem- 
plated with any approach to cheerfulness or resignation. 
The unfortunate man was young and full of health and 
strength. His feelings ‘had been dulled by the terrible 
calamity which had come upon him ; but time was begin- 
ning to do its work, and this well-meant missive acted upon 
him like an irritant, causing- all his wounds to ache and 
throb with intolerable pain. He could not help asking 
himself whether it was possible that Cicely really loved 
him ; he could not help wondering Avhether it was true 
that women, when they love, are willing to forgive every- 
thing. He could forgive her anything, he thought, forget- 
ting that he had not been very ready to forgive her for 
desiring to manage her own property in her own way. 

Upon the summit of the hill of Pera, near the British 
Embassy, there is a small public garden, whence a wide 
view of the city may be obtained. Thither Archie wan- 
dered, and, after reading his letter over again and replacing 
it in his pocket, indulged in dreams which he well knew 
to be only dreams. No ! he could not now go back and 
“ face his trouble,” as Bobby advised ; but there was no 
harm in speculating upon whaf might conceivably happen 
if he did go back. All sorts of happy and improbable 
events are conceivable, and perhaps we can’t do better 
than console ourselves by conceiving them, because they 
very seldom come to pass, nor, even wheh they do, does 
the reality often prove as pleasing as the vision. So for 
a time Archie pleased himself or pained himself— -which it 
was he hardly knew — by imagining that Cicely’s arms were 
round his neck and her head on his shoulder, that she was 
telling him she did not doubt a word of his story, and 
asking him how he could have been so cruel as to fancy 
that she would. 


M/s A D VENTURE, 


323 


Oh, here you are ! ” said a voice behind him. “ They 
told me you had walked up in this direction.” 

“ Who told you? ” asked Archie, turning round. “ The 
man who watches me ? ” 

Theodori laughed. 

“You do not like being watched ?” he asked. “For 
my part, I am so accustomed to it that I don’t mind it — 
indeed, I look upon it as a sort of protection. Well, if you 
never do anything worse than sit in the garden and gaze 
at a superb view, you will soon cease to be spied upon.” 

“ I didn’t know there was a view,” answer^ Archie 
dejectedly. “ Now that you mention it, I daresay it is 
superb ; but I think I would rather be looking down the 
mouth of a cannon. Is there to be a meeting to-night ? ” 

Theodori nodded. He seemed to be a little nervous 
and excited, and as he lighted a cigarette, while seating 
himself upon the bench beside his companion, it was 
noticeable that his fingers trembled slightly. 

“ Something has been decided ! ” exclaimed Archie, 
upon whom these signs of agitation were not lost. 

“Well — I think so,” Theodori replied; “but you will 
be told to-night. When all is said, it is what you asked 
for,” he added almost roughly. 

“ Death is what I asked for,” said Archie, and it was 
with some surprise at himself that he experiencpd a sudden 
sensation of faintness. “ I shall be only too thankful if it 
is coming at last.” 

“ Oh, you fool ! ” exclaimed Theodori, “ you poor, silly 
young fool ! Do you know that you are as white as chalk ? 
Xhere ! — never mind ; I know you are no coward. And 
you must go on now — I can’t save you. Ah, why wouldn’t 
you be advised by me while there was still time ? ” 

It may have been fancy ; but there certainly seemed to 
Archie to be a suspicious humidity in the eyes of this 
middle-aged scamp. 

“ You have been very kind to me, Theodori,” he said 
simply, “ and you must not distress yourself about me now. 
It is quite true that death is what I ask for, and death is 
the only good thing that anybody can give me.” 

“ Well, you may come out of it safe and sound — who 
knows ? ” 

“ But that would be a little ridiculous, wouldn’t it ? No ; 
if anything in the world is certain, it is certain that I shall 


324 


Af/SA D VENTURE. 


not return from this expedition. By the way, what sort 
of expedition is it, and what are we supposed to be going 
to do ? ” 

“ My dear friend,” answered Theodori, “ you are aware 
that I am only an instrument, like yourself. I know very 
little, and what little I know I must not talk about. Only 
— I am sorry.” 

Archie looked at the man’s face, which was not a bad 
sort of face, as faces go, and vvhich just now expressed 
nothing but kindly commiseration. 

“ I didn’t mean to tell my history to anybody,” he said ; 

but I will tell it to you, I think. Then you may be as 
sorry for me as you please, but at least you won’t be sorry 
when you hear that I have been killed.” 

So he related as succinctly as he could the chain of cir- 
cumstances which had brought him to his present strait, 
and when he had finished, Theodori, who had listened 
attentively without interrupting him, said : — 

“ You have been very unlucky, my poor boy ; but you 
have also been unnaturally foolish, and I am afraid you 
have played into the hands of our friend Chetwode — qui 
n'est pas sot, luiT 

“ Oh, I don’t deny that I behaved like a fool,” answered 
Archie ; “ although I couldn’t suppose that anybody had 
seen the scuffle between me and my cousin. Anyhow, you 
understand now why it was out of the question for me to 
return to England.” 

Theodori assented meditatively. 

Yes, you are self-condemned in every sense ; your 
story would never be believed after the way in which you 
have acted. Yet you might very well have lived on and 
been as happy as ever again in the course of a year or so. 
Si jeunesse savait ! But it is useless to talk in this way ; 
and, as I said just now, you may not be going to die this 
time.” 

“ It will be no fault of mine if I don’t,” answered 
Archie. 

“ Well, you had better be prepared for it, at all events, 
and that is what I came up here to say to you. Have you 
any instructions to give me ? Have you made a will ? ” 

“ I never thought about that,” Arcihe confessed. “ I 
suppose, if I die intestate, my money will go to my 
cousin, who doesn’t ‘want it; perhaps I might think of 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


325 


somebody else to whom it would be more useful.” Then 
he added, smiling : “ I’ll tell you what, Theodori, you shall 
be my heir. You aren’t W'ell off, you know, and you have 
often said to me that you dreaded the prospect of old age. 
With what I can leave you, you will be able to live con> 
fortably and amuse yourself, and drop this conspiracy 
business.” 

But Theodori started back, throwing out his hands. 

“Not for worlds!” he exclaimed vehemently. “I 
wouldn’t touch it!. You think that is a funny thing for 
an unscrupulous pauper to say ? But don’t you understand 
that it is my fault — that it was I who — well, they questioned 
me about you, and I repeated what you had said. I wish 
to God I had held my tongue ! ” 

“ My dear fellow,” returned Archie, “ if you have made 
these people believe what I have been trying to drive into 
their heads all along, you have done me the greatest service 
in your power. Why should you object in my making 
some return for it ? ” 

No representations, however, could overcome the deter- 
mination of this inconsistent vagabond to refuse the fortune 
offered him. 

“You must think of some other poor man,” he said. 
“ Heaven knows there are plenty of them ! And when 
you have written out the document, you had better go to 
your Embassy or to your bankers and have your signature 
attested ; for obvious reasons, it would not be very safe 
for me to act as your witness. Now I have no more to 
say, and I am going away. Till to-night, then.” 

So here was another good fellow, in the skin of an ad- 
venturer. In truth this world, sad and chaotic as it is, is 
inhabited for the most part by beings who are neither very 
bad nor very good, and the distance which separates the 
best of us from the worst is not so great but that we can 
join hands across it. Archie was going to leave this 
world and go he knew not w'hither ; that much was certain 
and inevitable ; so that there was no harm in his feeling a 
queer, yearning, brotherly sort of love for the fellow-sinners 
of whom he was about to take an eternal farewell. And 
possibly it may have been a half-conscious wish that some- 
body at least should think kindly of him after he was gone, 
that made him bequeath all he. possessed to Bobby Dare. 
Bobby, at all events, had been kind and generous to him, 


326 


MISADVENTURE, 


and Bobby, poor fellow, had neither money nor expecta- 
tions. It was as good a way as another of disposing of 
one’s cast-off clothing. 

When Archie had executed his brief testament and 
had had his signature duly witnessed, he returned to his 
hotel, where he wrote a long letter to Cicely, in which he 
narrated the whole truth about himself. However, after 
he had finished it, he tore it up ; for what was the use of 
distressing her? She would hear that he had been killed 
in battle, and she would be sorry for a time, and then she 
would be consoled. That was better than that she should 
remember him in connection with a tragedy which had 
ended in virtual suicide. 

That night, as the doomed man entered the dingy little 
room in which he had spent so many weary hours, he saw 
that all eyes were turned upon him, and that in all of them 
there was an expression of curiosity and pity. Theodori 
appeared uneasy and gave him a quick glance, which he 
interpreted to mean that he must show no sign of being 
prepared for what was in store for him. He accordingly 
seated himself with his accustomed air of languid dejection, 
and as soon as some preliminary business had been dis- 
posed of, the fat, bald-headed personage who usually pre- 
sided over these deliberations addressed him in slow, 
laborious English ; — 

“ Mr. Bligh, it has been determined to give you imme- 
diate employment. I am to tell you that the Society 
attaches great importance to your mission and counts upon 
your obedience. To-morrow — do you see ? — you will take 
the steamer to Varna. On arrival, you will report your- 
self to M. Natchikoff, whose address is here written out for 
you. From him you will receive further instructions, upon 
which you will act without delay. Also he will tell you 
what measures it may be possible to take for your personal 
safety. I am to remind you — but that is perhaps not 
necessary — that, should you fall into the hands of our 
enemies, you are to die rather than make any compromising 
revelations.” 

Archie said he quite understood his orders, and imme- 
diately afterwards the conclave broke up. Everybody 
shook hands with him on wishing him good-night, which 
was a departure from previous custom. Theodori, from 
whom he parted at the door, declined his invitation to 


MISADVENTURE, 


327 

accompany him home and smoke a cigar, answering 
hastily : — 

“ No ; not to-night, thank you. I detest farewell con- 
versations. Nevertheless, I shall be on board the steamer 
to-morrow to see the last of you.’" 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

MUTINY. 

The Austrian Lloyd’s steamer which carried the mails 
from Constantinople to Varna, and which until recently 
afforded the only direct means of transit between the Tur- 
kish capital and civilization, was, as it usually is, incon- 
veniently crowded, and Archie, on taking his passage, was 
warned that;, all the available berths had been bespoken 
long before. However, the weather was fine and still, and 
he was quite willing to take his chance of a snooze on 
deck. There are circumstances which deprive even sea- 
sickness of its terrors, nor can it greatly signify whether 
one dies with or without a cold in one’s head. Archie 
leant over the side and watched, though he scarcely saw, 
the embarkation of the passengers, which was being 
effected from small boats amidst that hubbub of shouting, 
shrieking and chaffering familiar to all who have visited 
eastern and southern ports. He was wondering whether 
Theodori would keep his promise of coming to say good- 
bye, and hoping that he would, although it seemed far 
more likely that he would not. For Theodori made it a 
rule never to incur any discomfort that could be avoided. 
He had to put up with so many compulsory discomforts, 
he was wont to say> that he would feel it unfair to himself 
to add voluntary ones to their number, and of course it is 
an uncomfortable thing to take leave of a man who has 
been sentenced to death. 

But at the last moment, when Archie had quite given 
up, he hove in sight, and jumping out of the kaik which 
had brought him, ran briskly up the companion-ladder. 
And evidently he did not intend that his farewell should 
be- of any solemn or emotional character. 

Well, old fellow,” he said cheerfully, “ so you’ve done 


328 


ms AD VENTURE. 


with this deadly-lively place — and not sorry for it, I dare- 
say. You’re going to have a splendid passage. Got 
everything you want ? ” 

“ I suppose so,” answered Archie, smiling. My wants 
are not numerous. I’m sufficiently armed, if that is what 
yoii mean.” 

“ Oh — well, yes ; that’s desirable of course. They take 
very good care of you on board these steamers ; you’ll get 
a better dinner than you could get at that filthy Pera 
hotel.” 

Biit although he went on talking in this way, as though 
his friend had been merely starting upon a pleasure 
excursion, it was easy to see that he was not thinking 
much about what he was saying, and he kept glancing 
towards the bridge, where the captain had already sta- 
tioned himself, and whence orders might be expected at 
any moment that all who were for the shore should disem- 
bark. When at length those orders were issued, and when 
a general movement in the direction of the side had begun, 
his manner suddenly changed. 

“ Bligh,” said he, taking Archie by the hand, “ I don’t 
think we shall ever meet again in this world, and if there 
is another world somewhere, it isn’t very likely that you 
and I will be quartered in the same part of it. So now 
there are three things that I should like you to remember, 
if you can. Firstly, that I am not a free agent ; secondly, 
that I tried to persuade you to go home — and it would 
have been a ticklish business for me if you had consented, 
I can tell you thirdly, that I wouldn’t take any legacy 
from you, though nobody wants money more badly than I 
do. Bear all this in mind, and perhaps you will be able 
to say to yourself, ‘Well, the man wasn’t altogether a 
scoundrel, after ail.’ ” 

“ My dear fellow,” answered Archie, “ I have had 
nothing but kindness from you from first to last; and if you 
mean that it was you who got me told off for this job, 
whatever it may be, I can only say, as I said yesterday, 
that you couldn’t have done a kinder thing.” 

“Well — and there was something more that I wanted 
to remind you of. You have bound yourself to be obe- 
dient, and you will have to stick to your word. You must 
think of your superiors as you used to think, I suppose, of 
some old red-faced English general. It wasn’t for you to 


M/s A D VENTURE, 


32^1 


criticize his tactics, though you might not approve of them. 
Your duty was simply to do as you were told ; and that is 
your duty still. When you have seen Natchikoff, you will 
understand what I mean ; nothing short of a miracle can 
save you. Good-bye.” 

He was gone before any rejoinder could be made, nor, 
after he had once more seated himself in his kaik, did he 
turn his head, though Archie watched him out of sight and 
was ready to give him a last wave of the hand. Archie 
himself was not in the least disturbed by that clear intima- 
tion that the end of his life was near. He had understood 
as much from the outset, and, except during that passing 
moment of physical weakness which has been mentioned, 
he had not shrunk from his fate. As the vessel moved 
slowly out of the harbor and then began to steam ahead 
at full speed between the sunny shores of the Bosphorus, 
his feelings were rather of peace and relief than of anxiety. 
A soldier’s death is surely the best of all deaths, and many 
an unhappy wretch who is driven to blow his brains out 
would welcome it thankfully enough. Besides, anything is 
better than suspense. 

The weather fulfilled its fair promise : the tempestuous 
Black Sea was found to be in one of its rare moods of 
quiescence, and at break of day the steamer cast anchor 
in the roadstead of Varna. Archie, who had passed the 
night on deck, dozing at intervals, saw a line of low, bare 
hills, dotted over with white houses, which the first rays of 
the rising sun threw into relief. He and the other passen- 
gers were placed on board large heavy boats which might 
almost be called lighters, and as they were being pulled 
slowly towards the unprotected shore, he thought to him- 
self what a pleasant time they would have had of it in an 
easterly gale. On the jetty a crowd of some thirty or 
forty persons were assembled, and as soon as he stepped 
on land, one of these, a perturbed-looking little man with 
a waxed grey moustache, singled him out. 

“ Mr. Bligh ? ” he said interrogatively as he raised his 
hat. 

“ That is my name,” answered Archie. “ Perhaps you 
are M. Natchikoff?” 

“ Yes, yes,” answered the little man hurriedly. “ You 
have arrived early ; you have abundance of time before 
the train starts. What luggage have you ? Only that 


330 


misadventure. 


bag? So — that is well ! You had better walk up to the 
railway station with me. I would invite you to breakfast 
at my house ; but the circumstances are such — you under- 
stand? For the sake of my family, I must not risk it.” 

He spoke very fair English ; but he was in such a state 
of nervous excitement that it was impossible to get any 
intelligible information out of him. 

“ There is no hurry — there is no hurry ! ” he kept re- 
peating, in answer to Archie’s requests for instructions. 
“I have. a paper for you which I will deliver to you 
presently, when we shall not be observed, as we are now. 
It is most unfortunate that so many people have seen us 
together. Yet it was better that I should meet you than 
that you should ask your way to my house. And I would 
wager that those people at Constantinople have done 
nothing to insure my safety. You have not brought a 
letter of introduction to me from your Embassy^no ? ”, 

“ Of course not,” answered Archie, smiling at the idea. 

“ I thought not ! Such a simple precaution and so 
easily taken ! Many Englishmen bring introductions to 
me; I show them the neighborhood and the site of the 
British camp before the Crimean war. That is quite 
natural. But those people treat me like a dog ; they have 
no consideration for me.” 

It was evident that M. Natchikoff was a good deal more 
pre-occupied with his own affairs than with those of his 
charge. His complaints were prolonged without intermis- 
sion until he had reached a secluded spot, a long way from 
the railway station, when he cautiously drew an envelope 
from his pocket and thrust it into Archie’s hand. 

“ There ! ” said he, “ that will tell you what you have to 
do.” 

But as Archie was about to break the seal, No ! No ! ” 
he almost shrieked ; “ I will not have it — I will not permit 
it ! I desire to know nothing of the contents of that 
letter ; you will be so good as to open it after you have 
entered the train and started on your journey.” 

“ Very well,” answered Archie, rather amused ; “ but 
at least you will have to tell me for what place I am 
bound. Because I don’t know.” 

“ For Rustchuk, of course. Is it possible that they did 
not inform you of that ? ” 

“ They informed me of nothing ; I only know that I 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


331 


have been honored with a commission which is likely to 
cost me my life. Perhaps, as we are quite alone, you 
would not object to saying whether you think that a 
general rising in the country is at hand.” 

“A rising? That may be — or again it may not be. 
We get no direct news from Sofia here, and I am not in- 
structed to say anything to you upon the subject. But,” 
added M. Natchikoff, with marked reluctance, “ I was to 
ask you whether you had orovided yourself with a revol- 
ver ? ” 

Archie pulled up his waistcoat and showed the weapon 
which was attached to his belt. 

M. Natchikoff drew a long breath of relief. 

“ Then I am not under the necessity of furnishing you 
with firearms,” he observed. “ It was a very dangerous 
thing to ask me to do — very dangerous, and very incon- 
siderate on the part of those who suggested it. Now, as 
to that letter; it must be altogether destroyed. I suppose 
— perhaps, you would not like to swallow it, after reading 
it?” 

“ Well, if you ask me, I don’t think I should,” replied 
Archie. “ Moreover, if there are other people in the rail- 
way-carriage, as there probably will be, they might think 
it a little odd that I should make my breakfast upon my 
correspondence, might they not?” 

“ Then your best plan will be to burn it ; many people 
burn their letters. In any case, it should not be allowed 
to exist for one moment longer than is absolutely requisite. 
Now, sir, I have performed my duty, and I must appeal 
to your good feeling to excuse me from accompanying you 
to the railway station. I am a married man, with a large 
family which depends entirely upon me for support ; I 
hold at present a small office under the Government, 
and ” 

“ Oh, / don’t want you to accompany me,” broke in 
Archie rather uncivilly — for he thought that conspirators 
and revolutionists ought at least to be free from pol- 
troonery — “ if you will point out the way to me, I have no 
doubt I shall be able to follow your directions.” 

M. Natchikoff at once agreed, and, after doing as he was 
requested, vanished with amazing rapidity. Archie got a 
cup of coffee and some dry bread in the scantily-provided 
refreshment room, and then took his seat in the train, 


332 


MISADVENTURE. 


where, as he expected, he was soon joined by half a dozen 
other travelers. Taking stock of these gentlemen, he 
came to the conclusion that, whatever their respective 
vocations might be, they were not detectives ; so that as 
soon as the so-called express had started on its deliberate 
journey, he drew the envelope which M. Natchikoff had 
given him out of his pocket and tore it open. 

It contained a half-sheet of type-writing, which was 
without date or signature, but which stated its purpose in 
language devoid of any ambiguity. AVhen Archie had read 
it through, he fell back in his seat and the color left his 
cheeks. He was not exactly surprised : because he had 
had suspicions which he had endeavored to put away from 
him. Nevertheless, he was horrified and disgusted. For 
it seemed that there was no question of a cotip de main at 
Sofia or elsewhere, and that his services were required, not 
as a leader of irregular cavalry, but as a simple assassin. 
There was a man in Bulgaria whom he had often heard 
mentioned in the course of those Constantinople confer- 
ences which had wearied him so profoundly, and whose 
name he had seen more than once in the English news- 
papers-. In foreign countries this man passed, rightly or 
wrongly, for being an honest patriot. He was, however, 
notoriously anti-Russian in his sympathies, and it had been 
decided by those best qualified to judge that his “ re- 
moval ” was a matter of u^ent necessity. Archie, there- 
fore, was instructed to remove him ; and the manner in 
which this act of justice was to be accomplished was set 
forth clearly and tersely. The man was to be at Rustchuk 
that afternoon ; he was expected to deliver a speech on 
laying the foundation-stone of some new public building. 
It would be easy enough to approach him either during or 
after the ceremony, nor would there be any difficulty 
about putting half a dozen bullets in his body. For the 
instrument of Nemesis to effect his own escape would, it 
was admitted, be rather difficult ; still it was not impos- 
sible that he might slip away in the confusion, and he was 
told whither to betake himself in the event of his contriv- 
ing to elude the police and the populace. Finally, he was 
cautioned that, if captured, he was to refuse to say a word 
in answer to any questions that might be put to him. 

While Archie slowly tore this document into small 
pieces and dropped the fragments, one by one, out of the 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


333 


window, he reflected upon his position, and tried to arrive 
at some decision as to the course which it behoved him to 
adopt. One thing was quite clear and certain ; he could 
not obey his orders. It is true that he had sworn obe- 
dience; but he had never intended to swear that he would 
disgrace himself ; and when one has to choose between 
breaking one’s oath and committing a cold-blooded mur- 
■ der, there is nothing for it but to break one’s oath. He 
now understood Theodori’s compunction and self-reproach. 

‘‘What infernal blackguards these fellows are!” he 
thought indignantly. “ I daresay they haven’t the slightest 
objection to stabbing an enemy in the back ; but surely, 
if they had a grain of intelligence, they might know that a 
gentleman doesn’t do such things.” 

Well, there was no use in getting angry about it ; the 
question was, what was to be done ? Of course, the hope 
of meeting with a soldier’s death must be abandoned ; 
probably there had never been any chance of its being 
fulfilled. 

“ However,” said Archie to himself, “ they will no doubt 
have me ‘ removed ’ when they hear that I have played 
them false, and I am sure they are heartily welcome.” 

It was perhaps his duty to return to Constantinople and 
deliver himself up to his fellow-conspirators, to be dealt 
with as they might think fit ; but he really did not feel 
that he owed it to them to take all that trouble. If they 
had not realized that he cared not one straw about them 
or their plots, they ought to have realized it. He had 
given them to understand that he was willing to die for 
them in any honorable fashion; and he was willing to be 
executed now if they should deem it worth while to exe- 
cute him ; only, in that case, they must be good enough to 
instruct some emissary to do the deed ; he would, at any 
rate, not attempt to put himself out of their reach. As the 
train wound its slow way between the flat-topped hills of 
Bulgaria, he pondered over the total collapse of his 
scheme, and, in spite of himself, could not help a certain 
seilsation of light-heartedness at the reprieve granted to 
him by circumstances. It was as evident to him as it had 
ever been that there was no place for him in this world, 
yet possibly it may be true that 

“No life that breathes with human breath 
Has ever truly lomjed for death,” 


334 


MISADVENTURE. 


and the knowledge that it was impossible for him to die in 
the manner that he had anticipated did not come to him 
altogether as a disappointment. 

Shortly after mid-day the frontier town of Rustchuk was 
reached, and here the conducior of the Orient express 
came to ask him whether he wished to engage a place in 
the sleeping-car for Vienna. 

“ I daresay I may as well,” he answered, with a short 
laugh. 

Certainly he could not remain where lie was, and he had 
decided not to retrace his steps. He, therefore, with the 
rest of the passengers, stepped on board the little steamer 
which was waiting, and presently he was transported across 
the broad, turbid stream of the Danube, no man forbidding 
him. It was a queer and even a somewhat comical 
thought, that at that very moment the intended victim was 
probably declaiming to an appreciative audience in happy 
unconsciousness of the peril he had so narrowly escaped, 
while certain intriguers at Constantinople were rubbing 
their hands and saying to one another that all ought to be 
over by now. 

From Giurgevo, on the Roumanian bank of the river, 
Archie despatched the following brief telegram to Theo- 
dori : — • 

“ Impossible to do as requested. Did not bargain for 
such business. Am going to the Grand Hotel, Vienna.” 

That he considered to be a sufficient explanation of his 
conduct and intentions. If these people should think it 
desirable to wreak their vengeance upon him, they would 
now know wdiere he was to be found ; but he resolved to 
have nothing more to say to a set of cut-throats who took 
such good care of their own persons and committed their 
crimes by deputy. 


MJSAD VENTURE. 


335 


/'.li AFTER XLIV. 

LOWNDES’ LEGACY. 

It is but too that unassuming merit meets with any 

recognition in this bustling world ; yet every now and then 
one is gratified by hearing of exceptions to the rule, and 
all Abbotsport was gratified to learn that.a certain wealthy 
old lady had bequeathed a sum of jg2-,ooo to her cousin, 
the Reverend Robert Lowndes, as a small token of esteem 
and regard. 

Though what she can have meant by ‘ regard,’ ” ob- 
served the Reverend Robert, on imparting this pleasant 
intelligence to his wife, “ I really don’t know, considering 
that I haven’t so much as set eyes upon her for the last 
quarter of a century. Now don’t say that that accounts 
for it, Maria.” 

“ It is an old trick of yours, Robert,” returned Mrs. 
Lowndes, to put words into my mouth which I should 
never have dreamt of using ; and you have the same unfair 
habit in the pulpit. You accuse your hearers (who can’t 
answer you) of putting forward arguments that won’t hold 
water for a moment, and then you triumphantly go on to 
demolish them. Far be it from me to deny that your 
cousin’s regard for you would have increased if you had 
taken the trouble to call upon her once or twice in five and 
twenty years. Then she might have made it four or five 
thousand, instead of two, and we could have put up a nice 
memorial window to her in the south transept.” 

“ With our actual legacy, we shouldn’t be justified in 
going to that expense, you think } ” 

“ Nobody could expect it. But what I do think we are 
fairly entitled to is a holiday, and a- very small part of this 
windfall ought to enable us to go abroad for six weeks or 
two months and travel comfortably. How many years is 
it since we were out of England ? ” 

The rector sighed. 

Upon my word, I don’t remember. Enough for me 


MISADVENTURE. 


336 

to have forgotten all I ever knew of foreign languages, any- 
how, and you were never very fluent, except in your own, 
of which I admit that you have a fine command. Don’t 
you think that at our time of life the Lakes, or Scotland, 
would be more suitable than Switzerland ? ” 

“ Who wants to go to Switzerland ? ” cried Mrs. Lowndes. 

We have been there once already — and it is about the 
only place that we have been to. No ! I see at a glance 
what can be done without undue extravagance — Paris, 
South Germany, the Tyrol, Venice, and possibly Florence 
and Rome. I shall expect a new traveling costume when 
we start, and a plain but handsome dinner-dress on our 
return. Those two gowns are all that I ask for myself ; 
the rest of the expenditure will be entirely for your benefit. 
You require a complete change of air and scene, Robert ; 
you know you do. I wouldn’t say anything about it so 
long as I knew that we couldn’t afford it ; but now I must 
insist upon your doing what is right.” 

And how about one’s neglected parishioners ? ” 

“ They will appreciate you all the more when they get 
you back again. Besides, none of them are in urgent need 
of you just at present.” 

Mr. Lowndes smiled, as he stroked his chin reflectively. 
He rather liked the idea of this proposed jaunt, and he felt 
he had earned it. 

“ Well,” said he, “perhaps I might be spared for a few 
weeks ; I’ll think it over. But in all seriousness, Maria, 
there is one parishioner of mine wliom I don’t half like 
leaving, and that is Cicely Bligh. It strikes me that she 
may be in urgent need of a word in season before long.” 

“ But would she listen to it? I confess that I am out of 
patience with Cicely, patient though I am. She is as good 
a girl as ever lived in some ways ; but anyone more obstin- 
ate and opinionated I never met. If she chooses to marry 
that Chetwode man, she will do it — and it won’t be for 
want of my having warned her that he is after her money. 
My conscience is quite clear in the matter.” 

“ No doubt it is a great thing to have a clear conscience,” 
agreed Mr. Lowndes. ‘‘ I am not sure that mine would be 
clear if I didn’t do all I could to prevent such a niarriage. 
Somehow, I don’t trust Chetwode, and I am by no means 
satisfied that he doesn’t know more than other people about 
Archie Bligh’s reasons for leaving Abbotsport.” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


337 

“ Oh, dear me ! ” exclaimed his wife, ‘‘ we all know what 
those reasons were.” 

“ I am aware that you all think you do ; but I am unable 
to adopt your views.” 

“ That is because Madame Souravieff flattered you and 
bamboozled you. Everybody else saw through her.” 

“ Well,” said the rector musingly, “ if I go away, I shall 
at all events leave one man behind me who has a head upon 
his shoulders. Bobby Dare sees as plainly as I do that 
the popular theory is absurd, and I think he may be trusted 
to keep a sharp eye upon our friend at Upton Chetwode. 
A good fellow that, and a loyal fellow too. It isn’t every 
young man who would trouble himself to work as he is 
doing for an absent friend.” 

“Oh, he is working for an absent friend, is he?” said 
Mrs. Lowndes, laughing. “ If he is, he must indeed be a 
paragon of a young man, considering that he himself is over 
head and ears in love with the girl.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” asked the rector dubiously. 

“ Do I think so ? My dear Robert, have I a pair of eyes ? 
You, of course, have none — or at least you might as well 
have none, for any use that they are. Now I will just tell 
you this, and if you don’t believe me I shall not be surprised. 
Cicely never cared a button for her cousin ; she doesn’t 
care much for Mr. Chetwode, and she might come to care 
for young Dare if he were not such a simpleton. However, 
he will certainly ruin any chance that he might have if he 
lets her see that he is interfering with her affairs.” 

Perhaps that discovery did not imply any extraordinary 
amount of shrewdness on the part of Mrs. Lowndes, and 
in truth .Cicely had of late been greatly annoyed by the 
reports which had reached her of Bobby’s activity, and of 
the inquiries he had been prosecuting right and left. That 
he should dislike and distrust Mr. Chetwode was a com- 
paratively venial offence, though he might have no ade- 
quate excuse for so doing ; but it was taking a little too 
much upon him to assume that she wanted Archie to be 
dragged back by the hair, and in spite of her having said 
and wished that Bobby would get over his own boyish 
attachment, she could not think the better of him for hav- 
ing fulfilled her prophecy so expeditiously. She was, 
besides, the more provoked with her former adorer by 
reason of a certain resj^ect which she could not help feeling 


33 » 


MISADVENTURE. 


for him. He was no longer a boy, but a full-grown man — 
very quiet, very resolute and self-reliant, after a fashion 
which was not inconsistent with modesty. He did not ob- 
trude himself upon her notice, and as he never mentioned 
the subject, she could not very well tax him with the offi- 
ciousness of which she knew him to be guilty. She did do 
her best to snub him ; but this was not much of a success, 
and after one of her sharp speeches, somehow or other it 
was always she herself, not he, who felt small. 

Now, what is to be done when a friend of whom better 
things might have been expected sees fit to conduct him- 
self in an unpardonable manner ? Obviously one must be 
driven to fall back upon such sympathy as may be obtain- 
able elsewhere ; and Mark Chetwode’s sympathy was of a 
peculiarly Soothing and delicate kind. It was evidently 
real ; it was never put forward in the shape of unasked-for 
advice, and it could always be counted upon, even when it 
was not expressed. . For Mark, who knew that he had no 
surer ally than time, was playing his cards very well indeed. 
He was under no illusion as to Cicely’s feelings ; he was 
aware that she was not in love with him, and that she would 
undoubtedly refuse him if he. asked her to be his wife; but 
he was also aware that she was beginning to rely more and 
more upon his support in a thousand little ways ; and one 
great element of security was that, if she did not love him, 
she did not love anybody else. His object was to make 
himself indispensable to her, and he quite hoped that he was 
succeeding. 

“ I shall miss you dreadfully when you go away,” she 
told him one afternoon. 

They were walking across the park; for she had, as 
usual, encountered him in the course of her afternoon walk, 
and it had come to be an understood thing that when this 
happened he should see her home. 

“ It is kind of you to say so,” he answered with a smile. 

But am I going away ? ” 

“ I don’t think you will be able to stay all through the 
winter ; you haven’t enough to occupy you. And you are 
not one of those men wlio can always be happy so long as 
they have plenty of sport.” 

“ Added to which, I could not have it if I were. Never- 
theless, I hope to remain where I am.” 

“ Are you really growing fond of Upton Chetwode at 


misadventure. 


339 


last, then ? I used to preach to you that it was your duty 
to reside upon your property, do you remember ? But you 
didn’t seem to be convinced of it, and now I am not sure 
that it is your duty, after all. It can’t be anybody’s duty 
to bury himself alive.” 

“ Shall I confess the truth ? ” he asked. “ I hate Upton 
Chetwode, and I have a constitutional aversion to doing 
my duty. I suppose that if I were a sensible man I should 
be in St. Petersburg at this moment.” 

“ Why ? ” asked Cicely. 

But she obtained no answer, and possibly required none. 

‘‘ I doubt,” said Mark presently, “ whether you could 
find anywhere another man at once so hopeless and so 
contented as I am.” 

“ I don’t know why you should be either. It is absurd 
for you to talk of being hopeless ; yet perhaps you have no 
business to be contented with the life you are leading here. 
I think you ought to go out into the world again.” 

“ Ah, then you shouldn’t tell me that you would miss me 
if I did.” 

It was not often that Mark permitted himself such inuen- 
does, and he hastened to qualify his ejaculation by add- 
ing 

“ I have very few friends. Most men, I daresay, would 
think it only natural that their absence should be regretted ; 
but to me it sounds like an extravagant bit of flattery. 
Perhaps, after all, it is rather presumptuous of me to speak 
of you as a friend of mine.” 

“ I should be abominably ungrateful if I were not your 
friend,” Cicely declared. And, seeing in the man’s eyes a 
wistful look, which was not feigned, she was moved to speak 
with more warmth than was perhaps quite prudent. “ I 
am like you,” she went on ; “I haven’t many real friends. 
There is my aunt, who is as kind as she can be, but with 
whom I have scarcely a single idea in common ; then there 
is Mr. Lowndes, who treats me as if I were a willful child ; 
and there is Bobby Dare, who — who is tiresome and irritat- 
ing in many ways. I think that must end the list, and you 
are the only one of the four who never rubs me the wrong 
way.” 

“ That is something,” observed Mark, laughing slightly. 
“ It is negative merit ; but when one has no positive 
merits ” 


340 


M/SA D VENTURE. 


‘‘You have the positive merit of being straightforward/’ 
returned Cicely — and if this was not a very happy hit, it 
was at least effective, since it made her queerly-constituted 
companion feel both' grateful and ashamed — “ you neither 
do nor say shabby things. You are not for ever suspecting 
your neighbors of unworthy motives, and I notice that 
when you dislike them you generally hold your tongue 
about them.” 

“ Perhaps that is only because I am so worldly-wise, 
though. I have lived long enough to know what a worth- 
less weapon calumny is ; and if I wanted to prejudice you 
against — let us say — against our friend Mr. Dare, I don’t 
think I should begin by telling you that in my opinion he 
was a scheming hypocrite.” 

This certainly seemed to be a temperate and dignified 
enough fashion of signifying that he was cognizant of 
Bobby’s proceedings, and a comparison between the two 
men could hardly at that moment be to the advantage of 
the latter. Cicely did not say much more, for the subject 
was not an easy one to discuss ; but she allowed it to be 
inferred pretty clearly that no calumnies would injure Mr. 
Chetwode in her estimation, and when she reached home, 
where Mr. Lowndes had been for some time patiently 
awaiting her return, she was not at all in the mood to be 
influenced by representations which that excellent man had 
felt that he ought to make to her before absenting himself 
from his parish. 

“ You don’t give me credit for a grain of common sense 1 ” 
she exclaimed. “Admitting that I can’t see quite as far 
into a millstone as you and Bobby Dare, it still doesn’t 
follow that I am an absolute idiot. If Mr. Chetwode har- 
bored the designs which you are so kind as to attribute to 
him, do you really suppose I shouldn’t have discovered 
them by this' time ? And if he wanted to supplant Archie, 
do you think he would have considered it necessary to 
remove him from the place by fair means or foul ? ” 

“ Well, yes, I do,” answered the rector. “ My belief is 
that you would have remained faithful to Archie if he had 
remained faithful to you.” 

“ Thank you ; and perhaps you are right. You allow 
that he has not remained faithful, then ? ” 

“ No ; only that he has been somehow or other made to 
appear false. It’s no use talking, Cicely ; nothing will ever 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


341 


\ 

persuade me that the poor lad threw you over for the sake 
of Madame Souravieff ; and if that wasn’t his motive, what 
was it ?” 

“ It would be interesting to know.” 

“ I think it would. And until I did know, I wouldn’t 
accept another man out of wounded pride, if I were you.” 

It would hardly have been possible to say a more foolish 
thing. Cicely repressed her wrath ; but she answered 
coldly that she was afraid that she would have to use her 
own judgment, such as it was, in the matter of accepting or 
refusing any man who might honor her with an olfer of 
marriage. All the more so, because the judgment of her 
advisers seemed to be a little cloudy, notwithstanding their 
singular ingenuity. And although Mr. Lowndes was 
morally certain that he was right, he could not produce an 
atom of proof in support of his allegations ; so that all 
that he could do was to shake his head and hold his peace, 
and trust in Providence. 

“ I don’t wish to hurt your feelings, Robert,” observed 
his wife, by whom he was duly catechized that night ; “ but 
I must say that it strikes me as a merciful thing that you 
are going to take your holiday just now. And if the Ad- 
miralty would find some employment for the other Robert 
and send him away, I daresay Cicely wouldn’t marry Mr. 
Chetwode after all. It was right to warn her — I did so 
myself — but then I only told her that he was after her 
money, which is true, and ought to be obvious. I wasn’t 
quite such a goose as to suggest that he had hatched some 
dark plot for disposing of young Bligh ! ” 


CHAPTER XLV. 

ARCHIE’S SENTENCE. 

It seemed a strange and unreal thing to Archie Bligh that 
he should be crossing the plains of Roumania without 
molestation and in a comfortable railway-carriage, like any 
ordinary traveler. He had become so accustomed to the 
sensation of being constantly watched that he could hardly 
believe there was no emissary of the society to which he 
had sworn fealty at his elbow, and it was difficult to realize 


342 


M/S A D VENTURE. 


/ 


the facility with which he had refused the part assigned to 
him. Emissaries, to be sure, might be found in or des- 
patched to Vienna ; but somehow he could not think of 
these people very seriously, or imagine them to be the 
desperate characters that they represented themselves as 
being. The solemn emptiness of those conferences at 
Constantinople, the ludicrous terror of poor M. Natchikoflf, 
the evident lack of any concerted plan of action — all these 
things came back to his mind and produced a strong im- 
pression therein that he would hear no more of insurrec- 
tions or assassinations. And this was scarcely such a dis- 
appointment to him as it ought logically to have been. 
He had done his best to get himself killed ; dt was no fault 
of his that he had been unsuccessful, and now it only 
■ remained for him to devise some other means of getting rid 
of an existence which instinct or early training forbade him 
to take with his ow*n hand. By hook or by crook he must 
manage to die; that was certain. Yet the prospect of a 
few weeks or even months of life was rather sweet than 
bitter. 

He thought a good deal, in a fitful, .disconnected way, 
about the past and the future while the train sped on 
through Roumania and Hungary, and he slept during the 
greater part of the night. By daybreak he had pretty well 
made up his mind what he would do. 

“ I’ll give them a chance to put me out of the way,” he 
thought ; “ that is the least that I can do, after throwing 
' them over. But if they haven’t taken advantage of their 
opportunities at the end of ten days or a fortnight, I shall 
consider myself entitled to make a move, and I believe 
India would be the best place for me. A man who habit- 
ually goes out tiger-shooting on foot ought not to defraud 
his heirs of their inheritance for very long, and while he 
lives he will have grand sport to keep him from brooding 
over what can’t be cured.” 

The remembrance that he had an heir made him remem- 
ber Bobby Dare’s letter ; and perhaps it was the fresh 
lease of life which he had taken that gave him a greater 
interest in that missive than he had hithei^io felt. Could it 
be possible that Chetwode had deliberately recommended 
him for an enterprise which must of necessity prove fatal 
to the man who should carry it out? He recollected very 
well that he had spoken upon the subject of assassinations 


M/SA D VENTURE. 


343 


to Mark, and that he had received no assurance from that 
cautious personage that he would not be employed in such 
dirty work. But then he also recollected what Mark had 
said — that a girl could not be permitted to marry in 
ignorance the man who had brought about her brother’s 
death. Mark was in any case free from risk of interfer- 
ence on the part of the luckless wretch in question ; so that 
there was no need to suspect him of sinister designs. 
Yet the fellow had a treacherous face; it was horrible to 
think of him as Cicely’s husband. 

Archie determined that he would think no more about a 
calamity which he was powerless to avert — and, as a natu- 
ral consequence, he found himself quite unable to think 
about anything else. Meanwhile, time and the express 
hurried steadily on. Pesth was reached ; then came the 
green meadows and wooded hills of Austria, and then 
Vienna and the end of the long journey. Archie installed 
himself comfortably at the Grand Hotel ; one may as well 
be comfortable when money is no object and when one has 
the prospect of speedily relinquishing all one’s earthly pos- 
sessions. However, when he had spent three days in that 
bright city, which is in some sort the Paris of south-eastern 
Europe, and had neither received any response to his 
telegram nor been stabbed in the back during his nocturnal 
wanderings, he began to feel that that prospect had re- 
ceded indefinitely, and to experience a return of the unrea- 
sonable exultation which had come upon him when he had 
first perused his instructions. He was well aware that 
there was not and could not be any hope for him ; but for 
all that he was glad that he was not going to die imme- 
diately. He was glad, too — and this, at all events, was ])er- 
missible — that he had freed himself from a stupid cons])i- 
racy into which he ought never to have blundered. 

One evening he was sitting in the court-yard of the hotel 
smoking his after-dinner cigar, when a light touch ui)on 
his shoulder made him start, and, turning round, he saw 
Theodori looking down upon him with a grave face. 

“ You here ! ” he exclaimed. “ Did you get my tele- 
gram?” 

“ Naturally I did,” replied Theodori ; that is why I am 
here. You have placed yourself and me in a painful posi- 
tion, Bligh.” 

“ Sit down,” said Archie, “ and have a cigar. Well, if it 


344 


MlSADVEh^TVRE, 


comes to painful positions, you and your friends wanted to 
place me in a tolerably nasty one. I can’t think how you 
can ever have imagined that I should accept it. I was 
perfectly ready to take part in any fair figl^ting, and I asked 
nothing better than to be killed in the course of it ; but I 
suppose the fact of the matter is that fair fighting has never 
been contemplated.” 

Theodori had lighted his cigar. He blew three or four 
successive • clouds of smoke from his lips before he 
replied : — 

“ I believe that there will be fighting ; but whether there 
will or not isn’t a question for you and me. We have 
simply sworn to obey orders.” 

“ No doubt ) but you see, there are certain orders which 
one can't obey. At least, I can’t. All I can say is that 
your blood-thirsty friends have my full permission to 
assassinate the defaulting assassin. Only I rather question 
whether they have the requisite pluck.” 

Theodori did not smile. 

“ If you think that these men are merely conspirators 
pour rire^ you are making a great mistake, Bligh,” said'he. 
“ I do not know that they are all specially courageous ; 
but I know that they cannot afford to be defied or dis- 
obeyed. It was not wise of you to send that telegram ; 
you would have done better to travel straight through to 
England.” 

“ Oh, very likely. But even if I had been anxious to pre- 
serve my skin, I couldn’t have refused to let those fellows 
have a fair chance of making a hole in it.” 

“ They will take advantage of your chivalrous senti- 
ments,” answered Theodori drily. “It is perhaps unfortu- 
nate for you, but it is certainly fortunate for me, that you 
happen to be chivalrous. I need hardly tell you that they 
hold me responsible for you.” 

“I am sorry for that,” said Archie ; “but I don’t quite 
see what right they have to do any such thing.” 

“Well, as I told you at Constantinople, it was I who 
recommended you for this piece of work which you have 
failed to execute. The thing had to be done — it still has 
to be done— and it wasn’t easy at the moment to find a 
man who could be trusted to do it. For several reasons I 
regretted afterwards that I had mentioned your name ; but 
I own that distrust of you was not one of them. I knew 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


345 


you wouldn’t like it ; but I believed that you would do it. 
Well, we need not argue about the righteousness or 
unrighteousness of assassination ; you have your ideas and 
I have mine ; neither of us would be likely to convince the 
other. But this is the offer which I have been sent here 
to make to you — and I beg you to believe me when I say 
that it is a great concession, and one which I only 
obtained as a concession to myself. The man whom 
you were ordered to remove is now at Sofia ; he takes no 
precautions, and by following him you can easily do what 
you ought to have done at Rustchuk. Your hope of 
escape, slight as it would have been in the first instance, 
will be almost nothing there ; but that is your own fault. 
1 am commissioned to give you this opportunity of atoning 
for an act of mutiny. Will you take it ?” 

“ Most certainly not,” answered Archie, composedly. 

‘‘ If you don’t, you will never leave this place alive. 
Ridiculous though it may seem to you, it is nevertheless a 
simple fact that I myself shall be j^ut to death unless I 
carry out the instructions that I have received, and those 
instructions are to make you obey or to kill you. They 
are not pleasant instructions ; but that is neither here nor 
there. I shall carry them out, because I do not believe in 
any future state of being, and because I would kill any- 
body rather than die.” 

This was said in so calm and matter-of-fact a tone, des- 
pite the incongruity of such a declaration with the place in 
which it was made, Archie could not doubt the speaker’s 
seriousness. He only answered : — 

“Very well; I shall offer no resistance. I can’t think 
how you will manage it, though, even if I give you every 
help in my power. The Viennese police system is said to 
be the most perfect in the world.” 

“Ah, bah ! It is not the police who will give me any 
trouble. Yet you might help me in one way, Bligh ; you 
might consent to meet me in duel, instead of forcing me to 
murder you. I suppose you know that, although I would 
murder you if I felt *it to be necessary, I should never be 
able to forgive myself for having done it. A duel is differ- 
ent. A distinction without a difference, you may say ; but 
to me the difference is as real as anything in this confused 
world.” 

To Arcnie the whole business seemed unreal enough. 


346 


MISADVENTURE, 


However, he assented without hesitation to Theodori’s pro- 
posal, merely asking, with a laugh, what they were to 
quarrel about and where they were to find their seconds. 
Before replying, Theodori made a final and earnest appeal 
to him to reconsider his decision. A man who had sworn 
implicit obedience to others cannot, he urged, be held 
answerable for any act that he may commit. The respon- 
sibility rests with his superiors ; he is merely an instru- 
ment. Moreover, if death must be faced it is surely better 
to accept the fatal stroke from some stranger than to force 
an unwilling friend to deliver it. But these and other 
representations proved totally unavailing. 

‘‘ Nothing on earth would induce me to obey such 
orders,” Archie declared. “ I am sorry that you should 
have a disagreeable duty to perform ; but I can’t relieve 
you of it. Now you may as well tell me what I am to 
do.” 

Theodori, who a short time before this had called for 
two glasses of beer, suddenly straightened himself in his 
chair and said in a loud ringing voice : — 

“I will have no more to do with you, sir. You are a 
fool, and I believe you are also a coward.” He added 
rapidly : — “ Throw your beer in my face ! ” 

Archie promptly complied ; and Theodori, without an- 
other word, rose and left the house, wiping his face with 
his handkerchief as he went. 

There was a little stir and commotion among the spec- 
tators ; two or three waiters ran up, and presently the 
manager of the hotel advanced and stood staring in 
an undecided way at the Englishman, who- continued 
to smoke his cigar imperturbably. Nobody, however, 
addressed him, nor, perhaps, did anybody feel that the 
incident was one which called for interference. Brawling, 
of course, could not be permitted ; but these two strangers 
seemed disposed to settle their differences in a prooer and 
decorous fashion. 

Archie remained where he was, presuming that he would 
soon be informed what was the next step which he would 
have to take ; and indeed he had not been waiting an hour 
when two very respectable-looking gentlemen entered the 
court-yard and, taking off their hats to him, presented him 
with their cards, which bore names of a Slavonic appear- 
ance. They had been informed, they said, that he was 


MISAD VENTUKR. 


347 


without friends in Vienna, and it had been represented to 
them that they would render him a service by acting on 
his behatf in the unfortunate affair which had occurred 
between him and M. Theodori. Should he feel disposed 
to trust his honor to their hands, he might be sure that 
that flattering confidence would not be misplaced. 

Archie had hardly finished thanking them before two 
more cards were handed to him, followed by th^ir owners. 
Counts Petrowics and Paulowsky, who, it is needless to 
say, were the bearers of a challenge from their esteemed 
and grievously insulted friend M. Theodori. When they 
had been courteously received and duly referred to MM. 
Adreivics and Ivanovics, with whom it appeared that they 
had already had the pleasure of being acquainted, it was 
intimated to Archie that he would do well to await the 
result of the conference in his own room. He accordingly 
withdrew, and very soon afterwards his seconds joined 
him, with the information that their efforts to avert a 
hostile encounter had not been crowned with success. 
Consequently a meeting would take place in a secluded 
glade of the Prater at six o’clock the next morning. The 
weapons chosen were pistols, and it had been agreed that 
only two shots should be exchanged. They said they 
hoped that that was satisfactory to him, and he replied 
that nothing could be more so. 

Upon the whole, it was satisfactory to him — and yet he 
was sorry for himself. As he lay awake in the dark (for 
he only slept by fits and snatches that night) he thought of 
his short life, and the good times that he had had, and the 
follies and sins of which he had been guilty, which were not 
so very numerous. He^ thought, too. Of Cicely, whom he 
loved so dearly and who had loved him so little, and of 
Madame Souravieff and her perfidious sympathy, and of 
Mark Chetwode and his equivocal behavior ; and how 
could he help thinking that he was about to lose life and 
fortune and everything through a stroke of almost laugh- 
able bad luck? If he had clutched a tuft of grass, instead 
of seizing a tipsy man’s legs, he would even now have been 
one of the happiest fellows alive. Ah, well ! there is no 
denying that Providence or chance plays some queer tricks 
with the destinies of helpless mortals. 

But Archie, if he was not a philosopher, was at all 
events a gentleman, and at daybreak he rose and dressed 


348 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


himself, prepared to meet death calmly, as every gentle- 
man should. He found his seconds waiting for him outside 
the hotel with a hired carriage ; he was driven with them 
through the silent streets and drown the long alleys of the 
Prater, where the dew was heavy upon the grass and birds 
were twittering in the trees. Presently he was invited to 
alight, and was conducted on foot to a wooded dell where 
four men were standing, engaged in conversation. He 
recognized Theodori and his two friends, and somebody 
mentioned that the fourth person was a surgeon, at which 
announcement Archie smiled. The services of that func- 
tionary are not likely to be called into requisition, he 
thought. 

The distance was measured out — surely it was a very 
short one ! — the antagonists were placed in position ; then 
a handkerchief was dropped, and Archie instantly fired 
into the air. The next second he started, staggered for- 
ward a few paces, crossed his legs and fell heavily upon his 
face, with his arms stretched out before him. 

A brief consultation followed between those who were 
legally responsible for what had happened. Theodori had 
burst into tears, as men of his nationality are apt to do 
upon comparatively slight provocation ; but he was not 
allowed to indulge his emotions long. His friends seized 
him, one on each side, and hurried him away, while the 
doctor remained kneeling on the grass, with his hand upon 
the heart of the victim. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

MR. LOWNDES’ HOLIDAY. 

Few things in the world are more discouraging than to find 
— as every unselfish person is sure to find sooner or later 
— that it is worse than useless to meddle with the mis- 
managed affairs of one’s neighbors. Bobby Dare and Mr. 
Lowndes, animated though they were by the highest and 
noblest motives, had not made a striking success of their 
interference between Cicely and Mark Chetwode, and they 
were now feeling proportionately discouraged. Bobby, 
whose letter to Archie had, of course, remained unan- 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


349 


swered, and who, despite all his efforts, had been able to 
obtain no further information bearing upon the mystery 
which so exercised his imagination, was almost in despair. 
He had the melancholy satisfaction of seeing Cicely on 
most days of the week, which was perhaps a shade better 
than not seeing her at all, but he was made to feel that he 
was m her black books, he was given no excuse or occasion 
for speaking again to her as he had spoken immediately 
after his return, and possibly he would not have put in 
such frequent appearances at the Priory had he not been 
compelled in self-defence to make some show of continuing 
to pay his addresses to one by whom it was as clear as 
daylight that they would never be tolerated. For both his 
mother and his sister persisted in patting him on the back 
and telling him to go in and win. For the sake of a quiet 
life it was best not to argue with them, and for the same 
reason it was unadvisable to tell them — what, nevertheless, 
seemed pretty certain — that Mark Chetwode was going to 
have things all his own way. 

Mr. Lowndes was not quite convinced of that yet, 
but he could not feel very sanguine as to his own powers 
of influencing the obstinate patroness of his benefice. 
Before handing over the control of parish matters to his 
curate, he thought it only right to seek another interview 
with ‘Coppard and strive to relieve a troubled conscience 
of its burden ; but Coppard, who had been sharply spoken 
to and thoroughly frightened by Mr. Chetwode, was now 
resolved to be guilty of no further indiscretions. 

“ Not me, sir,” said he, when the rector, after vainly 
beating about the bush for some time, accused him in 
plain words of knowing more than he chose to tell about 
Archie's unaccountable abdication and flight. “ ’Tis well 
known as I ain’t done nothin’, nor yet wouldn’t do nothin’ 
to injure Miss Cicely — not if ’twas ever so ! And what 
can have put such thoughts in your ’cad, sir, the Lord 
alone He knows. Which is what I often says to the 
missus after one o’ your sermons, sir. They’re too deep 
for the likes o’ me ! ” 

“ I suppose that is why you so seldom give yourself a 
chance of listening to them. But you know, Coppard, 
however fond you may be of Miss Cicely, you had some 
reason, or fancied you had some, for bearing a grudge 
against Mr. Archie.” 


350 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


Coppard replied with a good deal of dignity that he was 
not that sort of man at all It was very true that young 
Mr. Bligh had proposed to deal with him in a harsh and 
unjustifiable manner, but young Mr, Bligh was not his 
landlord and never would be. He could afford to 
disregard calumny, and he always did disregard it. More- 
over, he really didn’t know how a poor fisherman was to 
drive a rich gentleman out of the country even if he 
wanted to do such a thing. 

Mr. Lowndes, not knowing either, had to desist from 
cross-examining this recalcitrant witness ; but when he 
went to say good-bye to Cicely, he felt it his duty to try the 
effect of a last appeal upon her. 

“ I know I am going to make you angry,” he said ; “ but 
I am old enough and wise enough not to care whether I 
make you angry or not. I can’t leave this country with- 
out cautioning you once rtiore that you are in danger of 
committing an act of folly which you will repent of the rest 
of your life. I am not denying your right to think what 
you please about Archie., and of course, until he vouch- 
safed some explanation of his behavior, he had only him- 
self to thank if you assume that he has fallen in love with 
another woman — although be hasn’t. But now, I put it to 
you as a reasonable being : Is that a sufficient reason for 
your marrying somebody else whom you don’t really'care 
for? ” 

“ Oh, no, I shouldn’t think so,” answeied Cicely ; “ but 
then I wasn’t aware that I was going to marry anybody 
else.” 

“ Well, my dear, you are thinking of it, and so is he. 
Mrs. Lowndes says you will do just what you choose, and I 
dare say she is right. All I implore of you is to look well 
before you leap. Chetwode may be a trustworthy friend, 
though I confess that I am inclined to doubt it : but from 
friendship to love is a long step, and if you haven’t taken 
that step yet, be advised by me and keep yourself well in 
hand while you can. ^^'e none of us know very much 
about him, remember.” 

Cicely, who thought she knew a good deal about him, 
did not consider it worth while to say so. In her heart of 
hearts she knew that Mark loved her ; but how could she 
discuss the possibility of her accepting a man who had 
manifested no intention at all of proposing to her? 


MISADVENTURE. 


35 > 


She, therefore, contented herself with remarking that 
she had no doubt whatever as to Mr. Chetwode’s trust- 
worthiness, and that she was well aware of how inevitable 
it was that any bachelor friend of hers should be set down 
as her suitor. 

‘• It is a pity,” she added, “ that you can’t manage to 
dislike him without bringing such far-fetched accusations 
against him ; but that, after all, is a great- deal more your 
affair than his or mine. Probably he would only be amused 
if he heard them.” 

Mr. Lowndes could say no more, and felt that he had 
done unwisely in saying as much. It was with a heavy 
heart that he took his leave and with sad misgivings that 
he started for the Continent on the following day. 

“ I don’t feel as if I should enjoy this trip a bit, Maria,” 
he could not help saying out of the fullness of his heart to 
his wife, as he sat opjjosite to her in the railway carriage. 
“ Cicely Bligh is as dear to me as if she were my own 
daughter, and I am afraid that she is going to make tlie 
most fatal mistake that a woman can make.” 

“ Would your staying at home have prevented that? ” 
asked Mrs. Lowndes, pertinently. “ One can’t stop 
people from doing foolish and fatal things ; it’s only when 
the things are done that they come to us and ask for* 
help.” 

“Yes, sighed the kind-hearted rector; “and that is 
just what makes one doubt sometimes whether one ought 
to be thankful for existence. Our judgment is worth 
nothing where we ourselves are concerned, and we are 
powerless to save others, because they won’t listen to us. 
My feeling is that, if I were what I ought to be, they woidd 
listen to me — and they don’t.” 

But a man whose digestion is in good working order can 
scarcely contrive to be a pessimist, and when Mr. Lowndes 
reached Paris he began to enjoy himself, notwithstanding 
the excellent reasons that he had for being in low spirits. 
It was very natural that so thorough a change of scene 
and surroundings should cause him to forget the worries 
connected with an English country parish, and as a matter 
of fact, he was more oblivious of these than was his partner, 
whose sharp eyes were for ever restlessly searching the 
Rue de la Paix and the Rue de Rivoli and the gardens of 
the Tuileries in quest of somebody whom they could not 


352 


MIS A D VENTURE. 


discover. On the last day, however, Mrs. Lowndes’ 
vigilance was rewarded. She and her husband were 
driving back from the Bois de Boulogne, when near the 
.Ro7id-pomt in the Champs Ely sees they were passed by a 
smart victoria, in which was seated a lady whose features 
had recently become familiar to the inhabitants of Abbots- 
port. 

“ There she is ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Lowndes excitedly. 
“ Look ! Look ! ” 

The rector whisked round in time to see that the victoria 
had been brought to a standstill, and that Madame Soura- 
vieff was smiling and beckoning. 

“ Shall we go and speak to her ? ” he asked. 

But Mrs. Lowndes had already answered the question 
by jumping out ; and presently they were shaking hands 
with their former neighbor, who expressed much surprise 
at meeting them there and a good deal of anxiety to hear 
any local intelligence that they might be able to give her. 

The interview, which did not last long, was a rather 
disappointing one to Mrs. Lowndes, for all her queries 
and insinuations failed to elicit from the Russian lady the 
admission which she had hoped for. Madame Souravieff 
looked perfectly innocent when she was informed that 
• Archie Blights friends were in perplexity as to what had 
become of him, and she had the effrontery to say that if, 
as they conjectured, he was abroad, she hoped he would 
come to Paris and find her out. 

“ All the same,” Mrs. Lowndes declared, as she resumed 
her place in the fiacre beside her husband, “ that young 
man is here. Of course she wouldn’t take him out driving 
with her. I wish we weren’t going away to-morrow.” 

“ If you are right, Maria,” answered Mr. Lowndes, “we 
should gain nothing by proving you so ; and if you are 
wrong, as I think you are, we should do better to prosecute 
inquiries elsewhere.” 

But it was with little hope of hearing anything about 
Archie Bligh that this staunch friend pursued his journey 
to Strasbourg, Munich and other German cities, and when 
he reached Vienna and took up his quarters at the Grand 
Hotel, he was less preoccupied with home affairs than with 
the questions of alternative routes to Venice, and of whether 
the autumnal rains would have rendered the Tyrol an un- 
comfortable place of sbjourn for tourists or not. He was 


AI/S4 D VENTURE. 


353 


sitting in the court-yard with a map spread aut upon the 
table before him, in the very same spot where Archie had 
received Theodori’s challenge, when he became aware of 
a stout, bearded personage who, with straight legs and 
heels drawn together, was making him a low bow. 

“ The Reverend Lowndes, I believe ? ” said this Teu- 
tonic stranger. 

Mr. Lowndes jumped up, ducked his head, and looked 
interrogative. 

“Your name has been seen in the list of arrivals,” went 
on the other, “ by a patient of mine who is very ill in this 
house, and who would like to speak with you. He has 
begged me to seek you out and to mention his name — Mr. 
Bligh.” 

“ Good gracious ! ” exclaimed Mr. Lowndes, “ is it pos- 
sible that you can mean Archie Bligh ? What an extra- 
ordinary thing ? Of course, I will go and see him at once. 
You don’t think him dangerously ill, I hope ? ” 

The doctor shook his head. 

“ Your friend is more than dangerously ill,” he replied ; 
“ his life cannot be saved. We have found it impossible 
to extract the bullet, and even if we could have done that, 
I do not think that we should have kept him alive. The 
left lung is perforated, and, what is worse, there is no 
vitality in the system. I fear he must sink in a few 
days.” 

“ The bullet ! ” exclaimed Mr. Lowndes — what bullet ? 
How did he manage to get a bullet in his body at all? ” 

“ Now — that is no difficult matter,” answered the Vien- 
nese doctor, smiling. ‘‘ He has perhaps trodden upon 
the foot of the other chentleman — what do I know ? To 
me it was more important to get the bullet out than to 
ask how it found its way in ; but, as I have told you, it 
was impossible to perform any operation.” 

“ Oh, a duel, eh ? Dear me, what a sad business ? 
Who could have picked a quarrel with him? Some 
foreigner, of course. Not — not a Russian count I hope ? ” 

“ No, not a Russian. I have understood that the 
chentleman was a Greek, and that the affair was political ; 
but this I cannot say certainly. My business was only to 
attend to the one who should fall.” 

“ You were present at the duel then ? ” 

The doctor nodded. 


1 ^ 


354 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


“ I was requested to be present ; and I may tell you 
that I am sorry to have given my consent, for I have had 
trouble with the police about it. I have concealed nothing 
of what I know from them, and I will conceal nothing 
from you, sir; but I know very little. Until the day of 
the duel I was acquainted neither with your friend nor 
with his adversary, and the other persons concerned in 
the affair have left this country for the present — it was 
only prudent on their part to do so. Mr. Bligh took no 
aim, he fired into the air, and at once fell, as we all believed, 
dead. But when I found that he still breathed, it was my 
duty to do all in my power to save him, and you may be 
sure that no measure has been neglected. Unhappily, 
our efforts have failed, and yesterday I was obliged to tell 
him that he must prepare for the end.” 

Mr. Lowndes sighed. 

“ It is a sad business,” he said. 

“Yes,” assented the other, who seemed to have that 
sort of kind-heartedness which so many Germans have, 
and which is not incompatible with considerable thickness 
of skin ; “yes, it is sad to see any young man die. But 
from what he has told me, I think he is not anxious to 

live, and when one is not anxious to live ” Here the 

doctor raised his shoulders and spread his hands expres- 
sively. 

“ Has he spoken to you about himself and — and his 
affairs ? ” inquired Mr. Lowndes. 

“ No, he has spoken very little. I am not inquisitive, 
and besides, while there was any hope, it was necessary to 
keep him from talking. Now, however, it is of no con- 
sequence. Nothing can do him any harm, and I think 
he will die more happily after he has seen you. It was 
only by chance that I read out to him the names of some 
of his countrymen who had arrived at the hotel, and as 
soon as he heard yours he begged me to seek you out and 
send you to him. It is very possible that he may have 
something upon his mind, and that you may be able to 
relieve him.” 

“ Ah, Lm afraid it’s too late for that. Is there absolutely 
no hope ? ” 

“ Absolutely none. You would not perhaps understand 
me if I told you the medical details ; but he is in reality a 
dead man already. Will you come now to his room } ” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


355 


Of course I will/’ answered Mr. Lowndes ; and so he 
was conducted upstairs to a bedroom on the second floor, 
the door of which was opened by a Sister of Charity, who 
closed it behind her and stepped out into the passage after 
the doctor had said a few words in German. 

We shall leave you together,” the latter said; “you 
will be more at ease sd. If anything should happen to 
make you want us, you will be so kind anS ring the bell.” 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

LAST WORDS. 

Mr. Lowndes advanced into the room, where a man whom 
he would never have recognized as Archie Bligh was lying 
in bed, propped up by pillows. The unfortunate young 
fellow was as emaciated as if he had had a long illness ; 
his beard had been allowed to grow, his cheeks were as 
white as marble, and his features had the pinched look 
which is the forerunner of death. He turned his head 
slowiy and smiled, holding out his hand. 

“ Oh, my poor boy ! ” exclaimed the honest rectot, with 
tears in his eyes ; “ I would rather have lost my right arm 
than found you like this ! ” 

“ You needn’t be sorry for me,” Archie answered ; “ it’s 
all right. Everything has happened just as I wished, 
except that I wasn’t killed on the spot ; and now that you 
have come, I am very glad I wasn’t. What a piece of luck 
that you should have turned up in Vienna, of ail places, at 
this moment ! ” 

He spoke with some difficulty and his breathing was 
labored ; but he seemed to be quite composed and in full 
possession of his faculties. 

“ I’m thankful to have found you, and I shall be still 
more thankful if I can be of any comfort to you,” 
answered Mr. Lowndes, mournfully enough ; “ but I can’t 
be thankful to see you as you are. Why should you have 
wished it ? What made you fight this duel ? ” 

“ Well,” replied Archie, “ I believe I shall do no harm 
if I tell you. There are certain things to which I have sworn 
secrecy ; but your hearing the main facts will injure nobody, 


356 


MISADVENTURE. 


and it won’t take many minutes to relate them. Find a 
chair for yourself and sit down. If I faint or anything, 
you had better ring for the nurse. She’ll know what to do. 
I may as well begin by saying that that duel was really 
an execution, and that I only got what I suppose were 
my deserts by being executed. Before I left England I 
joined a secret society, which I mustn’t particularize, 
and my belief^ was that 1 was to be employed in 
some sort of soldiering work — in raising an insurrection, 
in fact. However, that wasn’t the view of my employers, 
and when I got orders from them to assassinate somebody, 
I could only refused” 

“ I should think so, indeed ! ” ejaculated the astonished 
rector. A nice set of scoundrels they must be! What 
on earth could have tempted you to join them, Archie ? ” 

“You shall hear presently. Of course, after disobeying 
their commands and breaking my oath of allegiance, I was 
bound to let them punisli me in any way that they might 
think fit ” 

“ I don’t see that at all,” interrupted Mr. Lowndes. 

“ Well, I thought so, and I think so still. Added to which 
my one wish was to get rid of life. Death, as you can 
easily understand, is the only punishment that they.ever 
inflict,* and they sent a man here to kill me. As he was a 
good fellow and had been a friend to me, he naturally didn’t 
like the job ; so to make it less unpleasant for him, I made 
a pretence of quarreling with him and accepted a challenge 
from him in due form ; and — and then he didn’t quite 
shoot me through the heart. I daresay,” added Archie, 
meditatively, “ that his hand was a little shaky ; for I 
have seen him practicing with a pistol in a shooting gallery, 
and a better shot I never met in my life.” 

“ Ah, dear me 1 ” groaned Mr. Lowndes ; “ I wish he 
had been a worse one — or that he had had a conscience ! ” 
Oh, he has a conscience right enough. He did his 
duty according to his lights, and he certainly thought that 
I had failed in ■ mine. Personally, I shouldn’t like shoot- 
ing a deserter ; but I might have had to do it, you know, 
in old days. I’m glad to say that I can die without any ill 
feeling against these fellows ; though I doubt whether they 
are much use. Anyhow, they have answered my purpose ; 
so I have nothing to complain about.” 

“You mean, I suppose, that they have done for you 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


357 


what you would have hesitated to do with your own hand. 
But, my poor dear fellow, why did you want to throw your 
young life away ? I’m very, much afraid that you have 
been cruelly deceived by somebody.” 

“No; the deception has been on my side. Now Mr. 
Lowndes, I am going to confess the whole truth "to you if 
I can ; but you mustn’t interrupt me, please, or I shall 
never get through. I daresay you remember that I left 
the Priory for Aldershot on the night when Morton met 
with his death. Well, it was I who killed him.” 

Mr. Lowndes could not suppress an ejaculation, not- 
withstanding the request which had just been made to 
him. " 

“ Yes,” Archie went on, “ I killed him, though I was as 
innocent as you are of any intention to commit murder. 
It was very bad luck. I missed my train, and while I was 
wandering about, waiting for the next one, I met Morton, 
who had just heard of my engagement to his sister, and 
who was drunk and abusive. He began by trying to get 
up a row with me ; but of course I wouldn’t have that, and 
as I took him by the arm to get him safely past the cliff — 
because he was reeling all about the place — he first pre- 
tended to be very affectionate and then did his best to 
shove me over the edge. The end of it was that he did 
shove me over, and if I hadn’t been brought up short by a 
narrow shelf of rock I should certainly have been dashed 
to pieces. I wish to God I had been ! However, I didn’t 
know what was to come : so I made a desperate struggle 
for life, and he stamped on my hands to make me loosen 
my hold, and then I caught him by the legs and he fell 
and rolled over the brink. That’s the whole truth. I’m 
sure you won’t think I would tell you a lie on my death- 
bed.” 

“ I should not have suspected you of telling a lie at any 
time,” answered Mr. Lowndes, as Archie paused and sank 
back gasping for breath. “Why did you not say this 
before ? ” 

“ Because I didn’t think I should be believed. It doesn’t 
sound like the truth, you know. I was sure that nobody 
could have seen what had happened ; so I went on to 
Aldershot, and when I was sent for I tried to look as 
much horrified as every one else was at the accident. It 
wasn’t straight or honest, I quite admit that; but — 


358 


MISADVENTURE. 


well, the long and the short of it is that I couldn’t 
bear to lose Cicely. And it stands to reason that 1 
should have lost her if I had confessed to her that I had 
killed her brother. 

The rector shook his head. 

“ Cicely would have believed you and stood by you,” he 
said. 

“ No ; she didn’t love me enough for that. I think one 
would have to love a man, very much before one could 
accept such a story and marry him in the face of the out- 
cry that would be raised against him. I don’t deny that I 
was wrong ; but I’m not sure that I wasn’t wise. Anyhow 
I was punished ; for it turned out, after all, that the whole 
scene had been witnessed by old Coppard, who was in the 
woods — poaching I suppose. He kept it dark for a long 
time ; but at last he blurted it all out to Chetwode, and 
that was final. The only thing left for me to do was to 
get out of the place and break off my engagement, and- — 
and find somebody accommodating enough to put an end 
to me.” 

If poor Archie had been sound and well, Mr. Lowndes 
might have felt it his duty to scold him a little ; but as 
matters stood, he could not bring himself to do that, and 
only said sorrowfully : — 

“It zaas Chetwode who persuaded you to go then ? ” 

“ Not exactly. I had made up my mind to go, and all 
he did was to give me introductions to people who seemed 
likely to put me in the way of being decently killed.” 

“ I daresay he was willing enough to do that.” 

“ Perhaps ; I can’t tell for certain. Pie has kept my 
secret, and I think he may have been disinterested ; though 
Bobby Dare, from whom I had a letter not long ago, doesn’t^, 
and I presume, from your face, that you don’t either. ' If it 
hadn’t been for Bobby’s letter I shouldn’t have* made a 
clean breast of it to you — it wouldn’t have been worth 
while. But now I think that Cicely ought to know the 
truth, and I want you to repeat all I have said to her. 
Then she can judge for herself. And will you tell her, 
please, that I never loved and n^ver could have loved 
anyone but her. I mention that because Bobby wrote 
some nonsense about Madame Souravieff, which she may 
have believed.” 

Archie’s voice had been growing weaker and his articula- 


3ns AD VENTURE. 


359 


tion less distinct. He now closed his eyes, and Mr. 
Lowndes, after twice speaking to him and receiving no 
reply, thought it better to ring the bell. The doctor and 
the nurse at once appeared ; and the former, when he had 
administered a restorative to his patient, said : — 

‘‘ I will ask you to leave him now, sir.” He added in a 
lower tone : — “ Later in the day — if there should be any 
change — you would perhaps wish to be at hand — yes ? I 
am obliged to go away, but the nurse will call you, if 
necessary. I think, however, that he has probably a day 
or two left to live.” 

All this time Mrs. Lowndes had been waiting impa- 
tiently .for her husband to escort her to the Imperial 
Picture Gallery and the Schatzkammer ; so that when he 
appeared she had some incisive remarks to make upon the 
selfishness of impunctuality. As soon as she had heard his 
excuse, however, she became as sympathizing as could be 
desired, and wanted to make some beef-tea immediately, 
because she was sure that no foreigner understood these 
things. But the rector said ; — 

“I’m afraid it isn’t worth while, Maria. The doctor told 
me there was no hope, and indeed I could see that for my- 
self. It has been a most deplorable affair. If only the 
poor lad had had sense enough to speak the truth at the 
outset ! ” 

“ But even if he had, Robert, I don’t see how Cicely 
could have married him. It seems that he really did cause 
the wretched man’s death, though he did. it uninten- 
tionally.” 

“ Lbider all the circumstances, I shouldn’t have regarded 
that as an insurmountable obstacle, and I don’t believe 
that Cicely would either — if she really loved him.” 

“ Only, as I have so often told you, she didn’t. I am 
ready to acknowledge that I have maligned him and to 
hea}) ashes upon my head ; but I know I am right about 
her.” 

“ It does not much signify now,” observed Mr. Lowndes. 
And then, after a pause : “ I think we shall have to go 
straight home as soon — as soon as it is all over.” 

Mrs. Lowndes’ face fell a little ; but she was a worthy 
woman, in spite of some small weaknesses, and she 
answered submissively : — 

“Well — if you think so, Robert.” 


300 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


‘‘ I might write,” said her husband ; “ but upon the 
whole I would rather convey this news by word of mouth 
than by letter. What I dread is that Cicely may engage 
herself to that man Chetwode, and if once she were to do 
that, she would be very apt to shut her ears and stick to 
her word.” 

“But has he done anything disgraceful? I suppose he 
would say that, when he heard the truth, he did the most 
friendly thing that could be done. He didn’t give infor- 
mation and he helped the unfortunate man to escape.” 

“ Yes, yes ; but I don’t like that assassination business. 
If he didn’t actually instigate it, he must have known what 
was likely to happen, and what the inevitable consequence 
would be. Unless I am very much mistaken in her. Cicely 
won’t marry him after hearing this story. Anyhow, I 
should never forgive myself if I left any stone unturned to 
save her from him.” 

This good couple had not the heart to go sight-seeing 
that day, the remainder of which they spent in their bed- 
room, drearily enough, awaiting a summons which did not 
come. But late in the evening somebody tapped at the 
door, and the doctor put in his head. 

“ There is no immediate danger,” he said ; “ but if you 
have anything more to say to your friend, it would be well 
that you should go to him now. The sister tells me that 
his mind has been a good deal wandering. To-morrow, 
perhaps, he would not know you.” 

The rector, of course, hurried to Archie’s bedside,^ and 
found him quite composed and rational ; but in truth there 
was little more to be said. The dying man had a few mes- 
sages to send to his friends, and for the rest, he was ready 
and willing to accept the last consolations of religion. 
Happily .for him, his faith was of that unquestioning order 
with which the majority of our countrymen are blessed. 
Like a true Briton, he had always hated the labor and 
misery of connected thought, and he was humble enough 
to believe that the creed which had commended itself to 
his forefathers was good enough for him. He had led 
much the same sort of life as other young men lead — not 
much better and certainly not any worse. He was sorry 
for the sins that he had committed, and glad that he had 
never been guilty of conduct unbecoming an officer and a 
gentleman ; and he was not afraid to die. 


MISAD VENTURE. 


361 


“ I funked it a little bit some tin>e ago,” he confessed 
simply “ but now I don’t seem to mind. It’s all right.” 

A plain man like Mr. Lowndes could only hope and 
believe so. If Archie Bligh was not all right,” then as- 
suredly nine-tenths of us must be all wrong; and, although 
that is perhaps the orthodox doctrine, it is a very hard one 
for good-natured folks to swallow. 

The night passed without much perceptible alteration in 
the patient’s state ; but towards morning he became de- 
lirious, and, as the doctor had anticipated, he never 
recovered consciousness. Within twenty-four hours of the 
time when he had made his confession to Mr. Lowndes, he 
died, leaving behind him at least one person to w'hom his 
death appeared in the light of a calamity. 

But Mrs. Lowndes, after shedding some natural tears, 
said that perhaps it -was all for the best. 

“You see if he had recovered there would inevitably 
have been complications. It isn’t as if Cicely really loved 
him ; and supposing that she had married him without 
loving him, they would both have been miserable. It seems 
almost a pity that she should have to be told this tragic 
story.” 

“ She is certainly going to be told,” answered the rector 
with decision. “ We will start for England as soon as we 
have buried our poor lad ; and meanwhile I have tele- 
graphed to her, merely saying that her cousin has been 
killed in a duel here and that I am coming home to give 
full particulars. They hurry things over so in these 
countries ! The doctor tells me we shall be able to leave 
in a couple of days.” 

This forecast Of the doctor’s proved, however, to have 
been somewhat over sanguine. Within the specified time 
all that was mortal of Archie Bligh had indeed been laid in 
the cemetery ; but the police gave a good deal of trouble, 
and many formalities had to be gone through before Mr. 
Lowndes was permitted to take possession of the papers 
and effects of the deceased. Not until after the lapse of 
ten days was the harassed and impatient rector able to 
take his place in the Cologne express, and as during that 
time he had had no news of Cicely beyond a brief acknow- 
ledgment of his telegram, he was by no means as easy in 
his mind about her as he could have wished to be. For, 
after all, the mere fact of Archie’s death would hardly be 


36a 


MIS A D VENTURE. 


enough to prevent her from accepting the hand of Mark 
Chetwode. 

“ She can throw the man over, though,” Mr. Lowndes 
consoled himself by reflecting ; “ and it shall be no fault 
of mine if she doesn’t.” 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

MADAME SOUKAVIEFF HEARS SOME GOOD NEWS. 

Anybody who has ever committed an act of self-sacrifice 
— and most of us, it may be conjectured, have been guilty 
of that folly once or twice — must be aware that only after 
the deed has been done does the shoe really begin to pinch. 
We are willing to give up a very great deal for those whom 
we love, or what would our love be worth ? And we don’t 
want thanks, or expect that the laceration of our feelings 
should be quite understood, and if we could only die and 
have done with it, perhaps we should die more or less 
happy. But we are not, as a general thing, required to 
die ; we are merely required to part with a right arm, or a 
right leg, or some trifle of that sort, and when once the 
mutilation has been accomplished and the dreadful, inevit- 
able reaction has set in, we are: left to ask ourselves 
mournfully how we are to get through the rest of our ex- 
istence in that maimed condition. It is not the loss but 
the process of growing , accustomed to the loss that is so 
weary and so intolerable. 

Thus it was that Madame Souravieff, after she had 
lightly pitched her wandering tent in Paris, was a restless 
and miserable woman. So long as she had felt sure of 
Mark’s love, or at all events had only half doubted it, she 
had been able to amuse herself very well when absent from 
him, and had found the world full of other interesting 
things and persons ; but now that she had lost him, now 
that he was going to marry a woman younger and prettier 
than herself, the world assumed an altogether changed as- 
pect, and it seemed to her that not one of its inhabitants 
except Mark was interesting at all. It was not that she 
had any lack of friends in Paris ; for at the first approach 
of autumn all true Parisians are only too delighted of an 


MISAD VENTUJ^E. 


363 


excuse to hurry back to their beloved city, and there were 
enough ministers, ex-ministers and future ministers on the 
banks of the Stine at that time to provide ample employ- 
ment and diversion for a patriotic lady amongst whose 
schemes that of a Russo-French alliance had ever held a 
rnost prominent place. There were journalists too and 
literary men, besides plenty of her own compatriots, who 
had a respectful admiration for her. But the unfortunate 
thing was that they all bored her to death. Their con- 
versation, which she had once thought sg witty, struck her 
as labored, stale and artificial ; she could not discover a 
conviction or an enthusiasm or an original idea among 
them ; she wished them at the uttermost ends of the earth, 
tictti quafiii, and yawned in their faces without so much as 
taking the trouble to put her hand before her mouth. 
This made them think all the more highly of her, but their 
forbearance did not inspire her with any sentiments of 
gratitude. 

“ I have been a perfect imbecile ! ” she kept saying to 
herself. “ It is true that if it were to be done again, I should 
be a perfect imbecile again ; still I have given up every- 
thing, and I shall receive nothing in return.” 

Nevertheless, one fine morning she did receive something 
which was totally unexpected, and which the religious feel- 
ing, which was quite strong and genuine in her, caused her 
to accept with tears of joy as a reward sent her by Heaven 
in return for her unselfishness. This was no less glorious 
a piece of news than that of her husband’s death, conveyed 
to her in a letter, dated Bad-Gastein, from the obsequious 
Victor. 

“ I have the profound regret,” Victor wrote, to 
announce to Madame la Comtesse that Monsieur le Comte 
expired two days ago, after an illness which fora fortnight 
past has left us no grounds for hope. I trust that Madame 
la Comtesse will acquit me of all blame in not having ap- 
prized her earlier of the melancholy circumstance. I was 
forbidden to do so ; and being only a servant, I was com- 
pelled to limit myself to a respectful remonstrance. M. le 
Comte Paul, who was telegraphed for ten days ago, is here, 
and by his orders I am writing to say that Madame’s pre- 
sence at Gastein is considered desirable for the discussion 
of family affairs. But should the journey appear too long 
for Madame, M. le Comte Paul will have the honor to 


364 


M/s A D VENTURE. 


meet her at any place between this and Russia which it 
may please her to appoint.” 

Madame Souravieff telegraphed to say that she would 
leave for Gastein by the first train, and made preparations 
for her journey without an instant’s delay. Her mind was 
in a tumult of excitement and she could not collect her 
ideas. All other considerations were overshadowed by 
the one great and blessed fact that she was free. Doubt- 
less she might also be pretty nearly destitute ; for her legal 
claim upon her Ute husband’s fortune was only a modest 
one ; but she could not bring herself to contemplate so 
mournful a contingency as that he should have left every- 
thing away from her. Only she knew that his brother, 
Count Paul, with whom she had not been upon speaking 
terms for years, would surrender nothing to her that he 
was not obliged to surrender, and it certainly behoved her 
to accept the invitation sent her by that hostile personage. 

Gastein is a somewhat inaccessible spot, and when at 
length she reached her destination she was ready to drop 
with fatigue. Nevertheless — for in the course of her pro- 
tracted journey she had ha.d time to develop a good deal 
of uneasiness as to her financial position — she sent a mes- 
sage to her brother-in-law immediately on her arrival, to 
the effect that she would be glad to see him before retiring 
to rest. In obedience to this intimation. Count Paul 
Souravieff, a tall, straight-backed old gentleman, presently 
entered her sitting-room and bowed low. He said, with 
an ironical smile, that he could understand her anxiety, 
which perhaps was scarcely to be considered groundless ; 
but that it was his pleasing duty to relieve it. 

“ I have thought it advisable, madame,” he added, “ that 
before transporting the remains of my lamented brother to 
Russia, I should seek a personal interview with you, in 
order to explain clearly to you the conditions of his will, 
and to warn you that non-compliance with these will entail 
forfeiture of the revenues .to which you will otherwise be 
entitled.” 

It now appeared that Madame Souravieff would be a 
very rich woman indeed, as long as she devoted no portion 
of her wealth to swelling the funds of secret political 
societies and withdrew from all connection with any such 
society to which she might already have become affiliated. 

“ I am told,” observed Count Paul, “ that these stipula- 


MISADVENTURE. 365 

tions may be difficult or even impossible for you to 
accept.” 

“ No,” answered Madame Souravieff, quickly. 

“ Indeed ? I am glad to hear it, for your sake. It may 
perhaps occur to you that we have no means of ascertain- 
ing whether you keep to your engagement or not ; but I 
feel bound to caution you that this is a mistake. The 
slightest breach of faith on your part will be promptly 
reported to us and as promptly acted upon.” 

“ Oh, I am quite aware of that,” Madame Souravieff 
replied with a laugh. 

“ Permit me once more to say that I am very glad, for 
your sake, to hear it. I believe I have now told you as 
much about the provisions of my late brother’s will as you 
would be interested in hearing.” 

“There are no further restrictions, then?” Madame 
Souravieff asked, after a pause. “ Nothing is said as to — 
re-marriage, for example.” 

Count Paul, who had hitherto been irreproachably cour- ' 
teous, although he was not best pleased at parting with 
two-thirds of an inheritance which might have been his, 
forgot himself so far as to laugh outright at this. 

“Reassure yourself, madame,” he answered; “not a 
word is said upon that most important point. I congratu- 
late you upon the common sense, as well as the good taste, 
displayed by the question, and I have the honor to wish 
you good-evening.” 

Two days after this, Madame Souravieff left Gastein on 
her return journey to Paris, without having again seen her 
brother-in-law. Messages had been exchanged through 
Victor, and her offer to accompany her hu^and’s remains 
to Russia had been declined on behalf of his family, 
although her right to do as she pleased in the matter had 
not been disputed. She had replied that it did not please 
her to insist upon a privilege so grudgingly conceded, and 
in truth she' was thankful to be set at liberty. For her 
intention now was to make straight for England, and she 
was in a terrible fright lest she should reach that country , 
too late to avert an irremediable calamity. 

Two things comforted her and soothed her impatience 
on the wfty : she knew Mark’s deliberate and cautious 
method of going to work,’ and she remembered how he had • 
told her that she would always hold the first place in his 


MIS AD I ^ENTU RE. 


366 

heart. He had certainly said that he would marry her if 
she were free, and now she was not only free but rich. Of 
losing her riches she had no fear. # She was not deeply 
implicated with the societies to which exception had been 
taken, and the duties which she had assumed could easily 
be got rid of. It would be understood that she could be 
of far more service to the cause in a wealthy and indepen- 
dent capacity than by attending occasional councils and 
bringing no money to the chest. 

She had proceeded as far as Munich, and was crossing 
the platform towards the refreshment-room in order to get 
some breakfast, when she almost ran into the arms of a 
burly gentleman in the attire of an English clergyman who 
ejaculated, “ God bless my soul ! 

“ One would think we were playing hide-and-seek all 
over Europe,” laughed Madame SouraviefF. “ One day I 
see you in Paris, another day in Bavaria ! Is it permitted 
to inquire whither you are bound ? ” 

“ I am bound for home,” Mr. Lowndes replied, with a 
grave face. I am sorry to say that I have sad news for 
our friends there. I am sure that you, too, will be sorry 
to hear of poor young Archie Bligh’s death in Vienna, from 
a wound received in a duel. By a mere accident, I hap- 
pened to put up at the hotel where he was lying, and so 
was able to be with him at the last. Under the circum- 
stances, I preferred going back to Abbotsport to finishing 
my holiday abroad.” 

Madame Souravieff was really rather sorry. Archie had 
wearied her a good deal ; but, as will be remembered, she 
had objected to his being put to death, and had hoped, 
without much ^expecting it, that his life might be spared. 
“ Poor young man ! ” she exclaimed. “ Killed in a duel, 
you say ? That seems odd. Are you sure it was in a duel 
that he got his wound ? ” 

“ Did you think it probable that he would be wounded 
in any other way ? ” asked Mr. Lowndes sharply. 

I know nothing about it. The last time that I saw Mr. 
Bligh he was in good spirits and had no intention of leav- 
ing England, so far as I was a.ware. I should have thought 
it improbable that he would find anybody to fight a duel 
with in Austria.” ^ 

“ Madame Souravieff,” said the rector suddenly, “ I 
daresay you will excuse my alluding to gossip which you 


misadventure. 


367 


may very likely have heard already. People in Abbots- 
port are under the impression that you had a good deal to 
do with Archie’s disappearance ” 

“ The report was not worth contradicting,” interrupted 
Madame Souravieff. “ I am not much surprised at such 
things having been said ; but there is no truth in them.” 

“ I never believed that there was ; and now I know that 
they were false. But what I believed all along, and now 
know to be a fact, is that your friend Chetwode was at the 
bottom of it. Is it taking a great liberty to ask whether 
you also are aware of that ? ” 

Madame Souravieff shrugged her shoulders. 

“ It may be as you say,” she answered. “ If you know 
for a fact that it is so you know rather more than I do. 
Perhaps Mr. Bligh has confided something to you before 
he died ? ” 

The rector considered for a moment. He knew that the 
task which lay before him might not prove a simple one, 
and that Cicely would not necessarily take the same view 
of Mark’s conduct as he did. No chance of securing an 
ally ought, therefore, to be neglected, and for several reasons 
he thought it quite possible that Madame Souraviefi’s co- 
operation might be obtained. If, as he rather suspected, 
she did not desire this marriage, she would probably be 
able to give useful information with regard to Mr. Chet- 
wode’s antecedents ; if, on the other hand, she was in favor 
of it, no harm would be done by ascertaining her senti- 
ments. The only question was whether he was entitled to 
reveal to her the circumstances under which Morton Bligh 
had met with his death. But as to this the rector had 
already made up his mind that there must be no further 
concealment. Neither for Cicely’s sake nor for the sake 
of Archie’s memory was it desirable that Mark Chetwode 
and old Coppard should be left in a position to threaten 
disclosures. The truth must be told, and people must 
form their own conclusions about it. 

Accordingly he said : — 

“If you can spare me ten minutes, I will be quite frank 
with you. My wife is in the refreshment-room, getting her 
breakfast, and I am supposed to be washing and shaving 
myself ; s(^ that we shall not be interrupted. To begin 
with, let me say in so many words that I am sure Chet- 
wode mfeans to marry Cicely Bligh, if he can, and that I 


.>68 


MISAD VENTURE, 


suspect him of having designedly brought about his rival's 
death.” 

“ You are certainly frank,” observed Madame Soura- 
vieff, with a faint smile. “ Pray go on/’ 

Mr. Lowndes told his tale clearly and succinctly, as 
beseemed a man who had no time to lose. 

“ And now, Madame Souravieff,” he concluded, “ I dare- 
say you will understand why I have taken you into my 
confidence. I want to open Cicely’s eyes, and I cannot 
feel sure that they will be opened by the facts that I have 
mentioned, although to my mind those facts speak for 
themselves plainly enough. You see, we know very little 
about Chetwode, whereas you, I believe, have been inti- 
mately acquainted with him for years. If, therefore, you 

were disposed to give me any help ” 

“ Oh, I am on your side,” interrupted Madame Souravieff, 
laughing somewhat tremulously. “ I could help you per- 
haps — there are circumstances — but I must have time to 
think ; all this has come upon me so suddenly ! You are 
going straight to Abbotsport ? ” 

“Yes, we shall stop nowhere. I have already been 
delayed much longer than I had wished.” 

“ It is not unlikely that I also may go to Abbotsport, 
for I wish to see Mr. Chetwode. Only it is absolutely 
necessary that I should spend a few days in Paris to buy 
mourning. I forgot to tell you that my husband is dead.” 

Mr. Lowndes began some conventional expressions of 
condolence, which she cut short unceremoniously. 

“ I am not afflicted,” said she. “ As you are aware, my 
husband and I did not live together, and you wotlld not 
believe me if I were to feign regrets which I cannot feci. 
Still I must wear black for a time. Perhaps you had better 
tell Mr. Chetwode what has happened, and you may add 
. — for I am sure he will be glad to hear it — that my hus- 
band has left me a great deal of money.” After remaining 
silent for a moment, she asked, with the same uncertain 
sort of laugh : “ Now do you understand in what way I 
can be of assistance to you ? ” 

“ Not quite,” answered the rector, wonderingly. 

“ Ah ! — well, never mind. At any rate I am with you ; 
and this I can promise : that marriage shall never 4ake place. 
There are more ways than one of putting a stop to it ; 
only the best and simplest way would be that sh? should 


MISADVENTURE. 369 

refuse him. I think you might persuade her to do that 
without my aid.” 

“ But suppose she has already accepted him ” 

“ In that case we should be obliged to have recourse to 
other measures. I do not believe that Mr. Chetwode is in 
love with her, I must tell you, and I do not believe that he 
was responsible, except indirectly, for that young man’s 
death. But it is a matter of opinion, and you have a right 
to yours. Here comes your wife ; I think, if you will 
excuse me, I would rather not stay and speak to her. We 
shall meet again soon.” 

And Madame Souravicff walked quickly away, leaving 
the rector to explain his unshaven chin and unwashed face 
to his consort. 

The revelation which had been made to Madame Soura- 
vieff disturbed her less after she had had time to reflect 
upon it than it had done at first. Mark had not told her 
the truth ; but he might very well plead that he had not 
been authorized to do so, and as for his having taken 
advantage of an oj^portunity to -remove Archie from his 
path, that did not prove him to be in love with the girl 
whom he proposed to marry. In short, she would not let 
herself believe that it was possible to founder in sight of 
land. She had liberty, she had wealth, she had had Mark’s 
own assurance that he still loved her. 

It is not an English schoolgirl who shall rob me of him 
now,” she said to herself between her set teeth. 

And yet she knew, as everybody knows, that in certain 
respects schoolgirls are a great deal more than a match for 
middle-aged women. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

MARK IS SPARED A JOURNEY. 

The telegram, announcing Her cousin’s death, which Mr. 
Lowndes had despatched from Vienna, not only shocked 
and grieved Cicely, but made her feel as if she were in 
some measure to blame for this catastrophe. In the pres- 
ence of it she forgot her wrongs, and could have no more 
hard or contemptuous thoughts about poor Archie. She 


370 


M/S A D VENTURE. 


could only remembej that he had loved her once with all 
his heart, and that, if she had not retained his love, it was 
perhaps because she had been too dictatorial with him, and 
too prompt in resenting the slightest tendency towards 
usurpation of authority on his part. It had, after all, been 
no such unreasonable thing that he should have wished to 
be allowed some voice in the management of her affairs, 
and had she been a little less unyielding, he would prob- 
ably not have been driven to seek for sympathy in another 
quarter. But her self-reproach and the excuses which she 
was able to make for Archie did not lead her to make any 
excuse for Madame Souravieff, whom, in the absence of 
further information, she not unnaturally assumed to be the 
cause of the fatal encounter. She said as much to Bobby 
Dare, who had been greatly distressed by the news, which 
reached him through Miss Skipwith, and who took upon 
himself to reply that some other explanation would assur- 
edly be forthcoming when Mr. Lowndes returned. 

“ Most likely he got into a row with some fire- eating 
Austrian officer,” was his own conjecture. “ And until I 
hear the contrary,” he added, ‘‘ I, for one, shan't believe 
that Archie ever saw that woman's face again after he left ' 
this.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” answered Cicely, with unusual 
humility ; “ I am sure I hope so. Only, if you are, his 
having gone away at all becomes unaccountable.” 

“ It will be accounted for when we get Mr. Lowndes 
back,’ I have no doubt,” said Bobby. “ Unfortunately 
that will be too late to make any difference now, though.” 

“ It will make a very great difference to me if I find that 
I have been unjust to poor Archie,” returned Cicely ; “ but 
I don’t wish you to think that our engagement could ever 
have been renewed. If he hadn’t broken it off, I should 
have kept to my word, because I told him honestly when 
I accepted him that I didn’t love him in the way that he 
loved me ; but I should never do such a thing again ; I 
am quite sure now that it is a great mistake.” 

Bobby looked inquiringly at her, without replying. He 
could not help being pleased to hear that she had not 
loved Archie, yet his pleasure was neutralized by an idea 
which at once suggested itself to him. Plow had she 
found out that marriage without love is such a mistake ? 
He had been wrong, it appeared, in supposing that she 


M/SAD VENTURE. 


371 


had cared for her cousin ; might he not also have been 
wrong in supposing that she did not really care for Mark 
Chetwode ? However, he had said all that he intended to 
say against that inscrutable personage, so that he could 
only keep silence and hope for the rector’s return. 

The rector, as we know, had met with inconvenient de^ 
lays at Vienna, and had refrained from writing because he 
had expected each day to be the last that he would have 
to spend in that city. Consequently thete was plenty of 
time for Cicely to think over all possible explanations of 
the mystery, and for Mark Chetwode to communicate his 
personal impressions to her. He could not deny, when 
pressed to say just what he believed, that these were iden- 
tical with her own ; although he displayed a good deal of 
reluctance in making the admission. 

“ Of course, I know nothing,” was his answer ; and to 
tell you the truth I would rather not know. But I sup- 
pose most people, on hearing that an Englishman had 
fought a duel in a foreign city, where he was a complete 
stranger, would be inclined, as I am, to say : ‘ Cherchez 
la femmel ” 

“ Madame Souravieff is not unlikely to have been in 
Vienna, is she ? ” 

“ Well, she is often there. But I have not heard a 
word from her since she left this country.” 

“And her husband — is it not very possible that she may 
have met him there ? ” 

Alark smiled. 

“ It is not very probable,” he replied. “ Count Soura- 
vieff does not meet his wife if he can help it. Moreover, he 
is an old man and an invalid. Finally, I doubt whether 
he would fight any duels for her sake.” 

“ But if it was not Count Souravieff, who could it have 
been ? ” 

“ Really I cannot tell you,” answered Mark, after a 
pause. “But,” he continued hesitatingly, “ I can easily 
imagine that there may have been somebody else. You 
see, Madame Souravieff has a great many friends in va- 
rious parts of the world, and — and one can understand that 
a quarrel may have arisen " 

Cicely stopped him with a slight gesture of disgust. 

“ Oh, well,” she said, “ we had better not discuss it any 
more until Mr. Lowndes comes. Then perhaps we shall 
hear the whole truth.” 


372 


ML^ADVENTURE, 


“ Yes ; that is much the best way/’ agreed her com- 
panion. “ At present we can only guess — we know 
nothing.” 

Now, as a matter of fact, Mark knew a good deal, 
though not quite as much as he would have liked to know. 
News had reached him that his protege had proved un- 
faithful, that he had been condemned to death as a traitor, 
and that the sentence had been duly carried out ; but as to 
all details he was left in ignorance. His own belief and 
his very fervent hope was that the story of the duel was 
apocryphal, that Mr. Lowndes had cither been misin- 
formed or had invented it by way of breaking things 
gently, and that Archie had not been seen alive by his old 
friend. Still there was a possibility of the young man’s 
having made a dying confession, so that it behoved survi- 
vors to be careful of what they said. If the worst came to 
the worst, he would be able, he hoped, to justify all that he 
had done ; yet that the news of Archie’s death should have 
reached his friends so promptly was from all points of 
view an untoward circumstance. One consequence of it 
which Mark speedily perceived was that it had, for the 
time being, completely checked the progress of his suit. 
Cicely might say that she would not discuss the subject ; 
but it was evident that she could think about nothing else, 
and all his efforts to divert her thoughts into other chan- 
nels met with only a passing success. He was thoroughly 
unhappy ; because his love for the girl only increased as 
it became more and more plain to him that he had not yet 
won her heart. 

One evening he had dropped in for a cup of tea at the 
Priory, and foolish old Miss Skipwith, as her habit was, 
had gone out of the room to look for something and had 
not returned. Cicely, who was growing seriously alarmed 
at the rector’s prolonged silence, confessed her uneasiness. 

“Yesterday I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I tele- 
graphed to him,” she said ; “ but no answer has come. 
What can have happened to him ? ” 

“Would you like me to go and see?” asked Mark, 
smiling. 

“ To Vienna, do you mean ? Oh, I could not ask you 
to do that ! ” 

“ Why not? I could be there on the fourth day, and I 
would at once send you a telegram. It is a very little 


M/SJ D VENTURE. 


373 


thing to do. Besides,” he added in a lower tone, “ there is 
nothing in the world, great or small, that I would not do 
for you, if you asked me.” 

Cicely looked at him and remained silent for a moment. 

“You are very kind,” she murmured at length. 

“Well, then,” said Mark, rising, “that is settled. I 
I will go home and pack a few things now. I shall catch 
the first mail from London to-morrow morning, and within 
about forty hours from that time I hope I shall be able to 
relieve your mind. Good-bye, Miss Bligh.” 

She gave him a grateful. look as she held out her hand 
to him. He bent over it, just touched her fingers with his 
lips and was gone. 

It was really very prettily done, and Cicely was as 
much touched by what he had refrained from saying as by 
w'hat he had said. For, of course, she could not but 
understand how matters were with him, and she thought 
he had behaved very like a gentleman in observing such 
reticence. 

Mark, for his part, had the satisfaction of feeling that 
he had scored a point. He was doing no good where he 
was, and he did not at all object to the journey to Vienna. 
On the contrary he was rather anxious to have the first 
word with Mr. Lowndes. It soon appeared, however, 
that that privilege could be secured without leaving the 
United Kingdom ; for he had only just passed out of the 
garden into the park, when he found himself face to face 
with the missing rector, to whom he said, laughingly : — 

“ Well, this is fortunate ! If I hadn’t met you I should 
have started in a few hours to look for you. Miss Bligh 
was getting so anxious and uncomfortable at receiving no 
news that I promised just now to go to Vienna and find 
out whether you were dead or alive.” 

No responsive smile shewed itself upon Mr. Lowndes’ 
face. 

“ I ought, perhaps, to have written,” he answered ; “ but 
I had hoped to be here before this, and there are things 
which it is more easy to say than to write. I may as well 
tell you at once that before -poor young Bligh died, he 
confessed everything to me.” 

“ Yes ? ” said Mark, without moving a muscle. 

‘‘ You understand, I suppose, what I mean by every- 
thing. I know that Morton Bligh lost his life in a scuffle 


374 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


which he provoked, and that that unfortunate lad con- 
cealed the truth fearing lest he should be accused of 
murder. I know that Coppard saw what had happened 
and reported it to you. I also know that you persuaded 
Archie to leave England, break off his engagement and 
join a gang of conspirators, who have had him assassinated 
because he declined to be himself an assassin.” 

“ I thought you stated in your telegram that he had been 
killed in a duel,” said Mark. 

“So he was — if standing up to be shot and firing into the 
air can be called taking part in a duel. The fellow whom 
they told off to murder him didn’t quite like the idea of 
stabbing him in the back, it seems ; so to soothe his sus- 
ceptibilities, Archie consented to go through the form of 
quarreling with him. It was a distinction without a differ- 
ence, for of course he was killed, though not — as was sup- 
posed — killed on the spot.” 

“ I am sorry for it,” said Mark. “lam sorry, too, that 
he told you his reasons for leaving England ; because I am 
afraid you mean to distress Miss Bligh by repeating the 
story to her.” 

“ Most undoubtedly I do.” 

“ Well, it is for you to judge of the wisdom of such a 
proceeding. Am I mistaken in gathering from your tone 
that you think me to blame in this matter? ” 

“ I don’t care to disguise what I think,” answered the 
rector, bluntly. “ I think that Archie’s death lies' at your 
door ; I think you deceived him as to the character of the 
men to whom you induced him to swear obedience ; I 
think yoii.knew that by swearing obedience he was virtually 
throwing aw'ay his life ; and I believe you did all this 
because, for purposes of your own, you wished to get rid 
of him.” 

“ These are serious accusations, Mr. Lowndes,” observed 
Mark. “ I won’t dwell upon the fact that they are both 
false and insulting, because clergymen, I believe, are 
licensed to say what they please without being called to 
account ; but I think you W'ill see that you ought either to 
substantiate or withdraw them. You charge me with hav- 
ing contrived Mr. Bligh’s death for purposes of my own. 
To what purposes do you allude? ” 

The rector did not much like answering the question, but 
could not see his way to shirk it. 


A//SA D VENTURE. 


375 


I think/’ said he, “ that you wanted him to break off 
the engagement to his cousin in order that you might marry 
iier yourself.” 

“ I presumed that that was what you meant. But do 
not you see that, if that had been the case, I could very 
easily have got rid of him without sending him to Bulgaria? 
When Coppard told me what die had seen, it was evident 
that I could not allow Miss Bligh to marry her cousin until 
he had cleared himself of suspicion. Unhapj)ily, he could 
not clear himself, and I suppose I should have been justi- 
fied in repeating to her the information that I had received. 
I did not do so because, in the first place, I wished to avoid 
giving her pain, and, in the second, I wished to give the 
unlucky man a chance of escaping. As to the confraternity 
to which I was the means of introducing him, I expressly 
warned him that assassination was not excluded from their 
list of weapons, although I thought it very unlikely that he 
would ever be employed as an assassin. I can only assure 
you that it is a matter of great surprise and regret to me 
that he should have been so employed.” 

‘‘ I can’t acquit you, Mr. Chetwode,” said the rector 
stubbornly. “ Many people would believe the account that 
you give of your conduct, but I don’t ; and if that is an 
insult — well, of course it is an insult — I can’t help it. I 
must incur the reproach of sheltering myself behind my 
cassock, that’s all.” , 

“ My good sir,” answered Mark blandly, your insults 
do not make me feel sore. I am sorry that you do not 
realize how ridiculous they are ; but you are quite at liberty 
to repeat them to the entire neighborhood. Impartial 
persons, I imagine, will know how to judge between us.” 

“ I don’t care two straws about the neighborhood,” 
returned the rector ; “ it is of Cicely Bligh that I am think- 

“ I hope Miss Bligh will understand that in acting as I 
did I had no motive except to spare both her and her 
cousin.” 

“ She may take that view, but I don’t think she will. 
She is too straightforward. Your duty was plain enough ; 
you ought to have persuaded an unfortunate panic-stricken 
fellow to stand up like a man and face the drunken rascal 
who was his only accuser. Instead of that, you advised 
him to behave as though he had been guilty of murder, 
knowing all the time that he was as innocent as you or 1.” 


376 


MISADVENTURE, 


“ Pardon me, I did not know that. I may have believed 
in his innocence, but it was impossible for me to know. I 
had his word for it that he was innocent and another man’s 
word for the contrary. You forget that he had already 
behaved as though he were guilty, and that confessions 
made under threat of exposure do not command much con- 
fidence. I doubt whether he could have cleared himself 
before the bar of public opinion, although I daresay no 
jury would have convicted him upon Coppard’s evidence.” 

“ Oh, you have made yourself very saf^e,” answered Mr. 
Lowndes. “ As I said before, I have no doubt that most 
people will exonerate you. But you will not be exonerated 
by me, nor, I think, will you be exonerated by Cicely. Mean- 
while, I had better go in and see her. When I have had 
my say, you can have yours. I ought, by the way, to have 
mentioned to you that I came across your friend, Madame 
SoLiravieff, at a railway-station on my way through Ger- 
many. She desired me to tell you that her husband is just 
dead, and that he has left her a great deal of money. She 
said you would be glad to hear that.” 

If Mark was glad, he certainly did not look so. For the 
first time in the course of this colloquy, his face fell and 
his pale cheeks turned a shade paler. More unwelcome 
news could hardly have reached him, for he well knew that 
Madame Souravieff’s liberty meant the probable termination 
of his own. ^ 

“ If only I had had the courage to risk proposing this 
afternoon,” he thought ruefully, “ I might now be able to 
point fo an accomplished fact.” He said aloud : “ I am 

sorry to hear of Count Souravieff’s death, but glad that he 
has provided handsomely for his widow. Did she tell you 
where she was going ? ” 

“ Yes ; she was' going to Paris. After that she intended 
to come to Abbotsport, for the purpose, as I understood, 
of seeing you.” 

Between Munich and London the rector had had leisure 
to weigh certain words which had fallen from the Russian 
lady, as well as to listen to his wife’s comments upon the 
same. Consequently, he was able to appreciate and enjoy 
the discomfiture of Mr. Chetwode, who rejoined, with 
raised eyebrows : — 

“ But if she comes to Abbotsport, where does she pro- 
pose to stay ? It would not be possible for me to receive 
her, I am afraid.” 


M/SA D VENTURE. 


377 


“ She did not enter upon that question. I was only with 
her for ten minutes or so, and nearly all the time we were 
talking about other matters. About Archie Bligh's death, 
in fact. Well, Mr. Chetwode, I will wish you good-evening 
now. It hasn’t been pleasant for me to speak to you as I 
have done ; but I couldn’t speak in any other way.” 

Mark raised his hat, turned on his heel and walked 
away. His reflections as he tramped homewards, were of 
the most gloomy description ; for he knew Madame Soura- 
vielf well enough to know that she would not now tamely 
acquiesce in his marriage, and nothing was more certain 
than that she could prevent it if she chose. His only hope 
was in precipitating matters, so that he might be already 
engaged to Cicely when she arrived; and that hope was 
but a poor one. Such as it was, however, it must be made 
the best of, for no other remained. If (but it may be trusted 
that nothing so horrible can be true) the spirits of the 
departed are permitted to know what takes place in this 
world, the spirit of the late Count Souravieff must have been 
chuckling sardonically at that moment. 


CHAPTER 1. 

CICELY DECIDES. 

Mr. Lowndes was not disappointed with the manner in 
which Cicely received: the news which it was his duty to 
impart to her. He had hoped — but, bearing in mind the 
perversity of women, he had not been quite sure — that she 
would accept Archie’s dying statement as true ; and it 
was a great relief to him to find that she did so unhesitat- 
tingly. 

“ I think Coppard has behaved very cruelly about it,” 
she said. “ If only he had told the truth at first, all this 
misery would have been avoided.” 

“ Yes,” sighed the rector ; “ but what is still more unfor- 
tunate is that poor Archie himself did not tell the truth. 
Coppard, you must remember, probably believed him to 
be guilty. Well, it’s useless to grieve over what is done 
and can’t be undone. My own feeling is that the worst 
culprit of all is that man Chetwode. I’m glad I met him 


378 


MISADVENTURE. 


just now, and had an opportunity of telling him what I 
thought of him.’’ 

Yes,” agreed Cicely musingly ; “ I am glad you met 
him.” 

But she did not seem disposed to say much either for or 
against this neighbor of hers, and the rector, before taking 
his leave, could not refrain from uttering a few words of 
warning. 

‘•You won’t let that fellow talk you over, will you, Cicely ? 
He has a plausible tongue, and his case, as he puts it, 
doesn’t seem so bad.” 

“ You needn’t be alarmed,” answered Cicely. “ I took 
his part when you were all against him, and I still think I 
was right in taking his part, since I could not possibly 
guess the truth ; but there never w'as any danger of — of 
what you were afraid of.” 

“ Wasn’t there ? So much the better, then. I myself, 
as you know, always gave you credit for being true to 
Archie in your heart. Mrs. Lowndes thinks differently ; 
but Mrs. Lowndes is not always right.” 

“ She is right this time. I am dreadfully sorry — more 
sorry than I can tell you — for what has happened, and if 
he had lived I should have married him perhaps — I don’t 
know. But I never cared for him as he wished to be cared 
for, and I ought never to have accepted him. I suppose 
it isn’t in me to care for anybody in that w^ay.” 

‘‘As you are a human being, my dear,” answered Mr. 
Lowndes, smiling, “ I think we may safely assume that you 
possess that capacity, and that the proper person will turn 
up in due season.” 

Cicely shook her head. 

“ No ; I shall end my days as an old maid. Perhaps, 
after all, that is the wisest thing for an heiress to do. 
Aunt Susan, who is always protesting that she means to go 
away, will stay and take care of me, I daresay.” 

But this modest programme, when unfolded to Miss 
Skipwith later in the evening, proved to be not at all to 
that lady’s taste. She had made up her mind that Mark 
Chetwode was the right husband for Cicely, and she was 
not to be moved from her opinion because it was pointed 
out to her, firstly, that Mr. Chetwode was not a formal 
candidate for the honor in question ; secondly, that Cicely 
had never regarded him as more than a friend ; and, 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


379 


thirdly, that grave doubts must now be felt even as to his 
friendliness. 

“ Ah, that is it !” she exclaimed. “ You are angry with 
him for not having at once told you all he knew. As if he 
had any right to betray other people’s secrets ! It seems to 
me that he behaved with the utmost kindness and consid- 
eration both to you and to that misguided young man. Of 
course, all that about the secret society and the duel is 
very sad and very dreadful ; but I don’t see how you can 
blame Mr. Chetwode for it.” 

“ I didn’t say that I blamed him, did I?” asked Cicely, 
who in truth had said very little upon the subject. 

No, but you evidently do blame him, and I think that 
is most unfair. If he had wished to do your cousin an ill 
turn, what would have been simpler for him than to de- 
nounce the murderer? Now, you need not look so angry, 
my dear ; I am not saying for one moment that your 
cousin was a murderer. Only I think you must admit 
that he behaved like one, and that it was for him, not for 
Mr. Chetwode, to disprove Coppard’s assertions.” 

It was, in fact, tolerably apparent that Miss Skipwith 
was not quite convinced of Archie’s innocence ; ’and as she 
was a person to whom conviction could not easily be 
brought home. Cicely said no more. 

When Mark arrived at the Priory on the following morn 
ing, the old lady, who had witnessed his approach from an 
upper window, ran down into the hall and intercepted him. 

“ Oh, Mr. Chetwode,” she whispered breathlessly (for 
the servants were within hearing), “ may I say one word 
to you before you see Cicely? She has been very much 
distressed by this sad news which Mr. Lowndes has 
brought us, and I fear she is not best pleased with you 
about it. But she will come round — I am sure she will 
come round if you still have patience. I do want vou to 
be patient with her to-day.” 

“ If I have any virtue at all,” answered Mark, “ I sup 
pose it is patience. At all events, I can promise to lose 
neither my patience nor my temper with Miss Bligh. 
Thank you for preparing me, though.” 

He passed on with a smile upon his lips, but with a 
sinking pain at his heart ; for he was pretty sure that if 
Cicely had begun by condemning him, his pleas in justi- 
fication of what he had done would have but little effect 


380 


M/s A D VENTURE, 


upon her. His hope had been that she would be driven 
to range herself on his side by the hostile bias of Mr. 
Lowndes. And so, when he was shown into her presence, 
her frigid greeting did not take him by surprise. 

“I am glad that Mr. Lowndes has returned safe and 
sound,” he began ; “ but I am afraid that what you have 
heard from him has made you unhappy.” 

“ It has certainly made me unhappy,” answered Cicely \ 
“ from first to last it seems to have been a series of 
wretched mistakes and misfortunes. Archie would have 
been alive now if he had had an honest friend to advise 
him.” 

“ You mean, of course, that I was not an honest friend 
to him. Yet I endeavored to be so, and if the case were 
to arise again I should not act differently. Mr. Lowndes 
and I had something like an altercation about it yesterday, 
as I daresay you have heard. I didn't convince him ; but 
perhaps I may be able to convince you. Will you at 
least allow me to try ? ” 

“ If you wish,” answered Cicely. 

“ I fully admit that I was more desirous of serving and 
protecting you than him,' and that you were my • first 
thought throughout ; nevertheless, I helped him to the 
best of my ability. Knowing what I knew, I could not 
possibly stand aside and see you married to him ; but I 
thought there was no occasion for your ever hearing the 
painful circumstances connected with your brother's 
death. Bligh himself admitted that there was nothing for 
him to do but to leave the place, and he was very anxious 
to see active service somewhere. It was to gratify his 
wish that I introduced him to these Bulgarian patriots, 
who are always upon the point of getting up an insurrec- 
tion and perhaps will get one some day. So far I have 
nothing to regret. What I do regret extremely is that they 
should have employed him as they did. You don't, I 
hope, imagine that I had anything to do with that ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; I could not believe such a thing.” 

“ Mr. I.owndcs apparently does ; but that is of no con- 
sequence. The fact is that I knew these men did not 
Stick at assassination, and I said as much to Bligh ; but I 
added what I thought was the truth, that they were most 
unlikely to select him for work of that kind, and why they 
did it 1 cannot in the least understand. From the moment 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


381 


that he disobeyed them, they were sure to inflict the 
penalty of death upon him ; he must have been made 
aware of that when he took the oath.” 

Mark paused ; but Cicely seemed to have no observa- 
tion to make. It was only when he was about to speak 
again that she checl^ed him by saying : — 

I suppose you knew all this time how he had died, did 
you not ? 

“ I knew nothing at all about it,” answered Mark. It 
has already been mentioned that his standard of veracity 
was not that of the ordinary Briton. 

“You guessed, perhaps. At any rate, you could not 
have thought that he had been killed in the way that you 
suggested to me.” 

“ Are you displeased with me because I deceived you ? ” 
asked Mark. “ But what else could I do ? My one wish 
was to spare you the pain of this discovery, and if I did 
not tell you the truth — which, as far as that goes, I was 
not at liberty to do — I could only suggest something to 
you which was not the truth.” 

“ Was it necessary to suggest calumnies about your 
friend, Madame Souravieff? But I daresay your intentions 
were good, and I suppose I ought to thank you for having 
troubled yourself to consider my feelings.” 

“ Do you remember what I told you yesterday?” asked 
Mark. “ I said there was nothing in the world that I 
would not do for you ; and certainly I would do much worse 
things for your sake than to attribute one additional flirta- 
tion to Madame Souravieff. I think I had better say now 
what you must ha\^ guessed long ago — that I love you 
with all my heart and soul. I know very well that I am 
no match for you ; I am neither rich enough nor great 
enough, nor young enough, nor worthy of you in any way 
whatsoever. Yet — nobody will ever love you again as I love 
you. And sometimes I have dared to hope that, as you 
had allowed me to be your friend, you might at length be 
induced to let me be more than your friend.” 

He spoke clearly, but his voice broke once or twice, and 
she could see that his hands were trembling. There was 
at least no doubt about his being in earnest, and J:hat per- 
haps made her answer him more gently than she had at 
first intended to do. She said : — 

“ I am very sorry that you have had hopes of that kind, 


3»2 


M/SA D VENTURE. 


Mr. Chetwode, but I don’t think I have ever done anything 
to encourage them. 1 did look upon you as a friend, and 
I should still, if ’’ 

Ah ! ” interrupted Mark, ‘‘ don’t cast me off because I 
acted in what seemed to me the only possible manner to 
act. Try for one moment to imagine yourself situated as 
I was ; what would you have done ? ” 

I should have told the truth,” answered Cicely 
promptly; “or at all events, I should have persuaded 
Archie to tell it. But, as I said before, I am willing to 
believe that you meant well. Only you and I evidently 
look at things from different points of view.” 

“ That means that you can’t or won’t forgive me. Let 
us say, then, that I v-as altogther wrong ; is it no excuse 
that I did wrong for love of you ? ” 

“ I don’t think you quite understand,” said Cicely, 
evading a direct reply, “ that all this has nothing to do 
with my refusing you. I could not marry a man whom I 
do not love.” 

“ Yet you were ready to marry your cousin without 
loving him.” 

“ Yes I accepted him, and I was wrong. I would not 
do it again, even to please my father, who wished for it so 
much. You cannot suppose that I shall repeat the mistake 
in the case of another person, who has no such claim iqion 
me.” 

For some seconds Mark sat silent and motionless, gazing 
at the opposite wall. His self-possession, which had been 
momentarily shaken, seemed to have returned to liim, and 
it was in his customary level voice that he said : — 

“ I did not flatter myself that you cared for me ; I was 
prepared to be rejected. Still, when one has only a single 
hope in life, one likes to assure oneself that it is quite dead 
before burying it. I must not ask you the question ; but I 
believe I may assume that you don’t love any man. So 
long as that is the case, may there not be yet the shadow 
of a chance for a man who cannot live without you ? ” 

“ Not the very smallest,” answered Cicely somewhat 
more harshly, for she thought his language exaggerated. 
“I don’t know how I can be more exjjlicit than I have 
been. If you were to ask me a hundred times I could only 
give you the same answer.” 

“ You are absolutely certain of that ? ” 


MISADVENTURE, 


S83 


Absolutely certain.” 

“ Then,” said Mark, rising slowly, “ I know the worst. 
Which is always a sort of comfort, is it not ? ” 

His face was deadly pale, and the smile which he forced 
his lips to assume was not participated in by his eyes. 

Good-bye, Miss Bligh,” he added presently. I shall 
never see you again.” 

“ Oh, why should you say that ! ” exclaimed Cicely, for 
she was really shocked by the man’s appearance. “ We 
cannot help meeting again if you stay here, and — and if I 
have spoken unkindly I am sorry for it. I can’t pretend 
to be pleased with the way you have behaved about 
Archie ; but I shall try not to think of that.” 

“ It does not signify,” answered Mark, with the same 
sickly smile. “ Whether you think well or badly of me, or 
forget me altogether, it will make no difference, for I shall 
never know. In a few days’ time I shall leave Upton Chet- 
wode, and it is very certain that I shall not return. If I 
believed in astrology, I should say that I had been born 
under an unlucky star ; but I haven’t even the good 
fortune to believe in that or in anything else. Good-bye.” 

He turned away, without shaking hands, and did not so 
much as turn his head when he reached the door for a last 
look at the girl whom he loved. Cicely was sorry for him ; 
but he was not the first man whom she had been compelled 
to reject, and she had reason to believe that the pain 
caused by rejection does not last for any inordinate length 
of time. Was not Bobby Dare, for instance, a striking 
example of the facility with which such wounds may be 
healed ? 


CHAPTER LI. 

MARK TAKES LEAVE OF ABBOTSPORT. 

After dinner that evening Mark said to his faithful French 
valet : — 

“ Have you had enough of England, Louis ? ” 

The man made no articulate reply, but shrugged his 
shoulders, displayed the palms of his hands and drew down 
the corners of his mouth expressively. 


3^4 


MISADVENTURE. 


“Well, you will soon be able to turn your back upon 
this dreary island. I have made up my mind to leave 
Upton Chetwode, and I daresay I shall have wound up my 
affairs by to-morrow night. You have served me very well, 
Louis, and, all things considered, you have grumbled won- 
derfully little. It is only fair that I should make you a 
small present now that I am closing the establishment.” 

Two five-pound notes were then handed to the factotum, 
whose astonishment was not less profound than his grati- 
tude ; for though Mr. Chetwode had never been an illibe- 
ral master, he could not afford to give away ten pounds 
every day, and of this his servant was well aware. 

The whole of the next morning Mark was engaged in 
writing, in looking through old letters and papers, and in 
destroying them when read. In the afternoon he saw his 
bailiff and his gardener, informed them that he was about 
to quit England for good, and added that the place would 
in all probability be let again before long. To each of the 
three house-servants he gave a month’s wages in lieu of 
warning, together with gratuities which they considered 
handsome. He had not hitherto taken much notice of any 
of them, which was perhaps the reason w'hy they now sang 
his praises loudly and regretted his proposed departure. 
It is scarcely necessary to add that they could form a 
shrewd guess as to the cause of this abrupt retreat on his 
part, and it was their opinion that he bore his disappoint- 
ment admirably. He looked a little sad, it was true, and 
there were dark semicircles under his eyes ; but they had 
never known him so affable before, nor could they think 
that Miss Bligh had been well advised in refusing a gentle- 
man whose temper was under such perfect control. 

His self-control was about to be put to a tolerably severe 
test ; for at five o’clock Louis came into his study to 
announce that Madame Souravieff was in the drawing- 
room. 

“ Already ! ” he ejaculated involuntarily. But he passed 
his hand over his forehead as if to smooth away the frown 
which had gathered there, and went at once to receive his 
visitor. 

He found her standing by the window, looking rather 
unlike herself in her deep mourning. There was a bright 
color in her cheeks, and she seemed to be agitated and 
excited. 


MIS AD VEMTUSE, 


38s 

^‘Yoii expected me?” was the first thing that she said. 

“ Not quite so soon/* answered Mark, with his faint 
smile. ‘‘ Mr. Lowndes told me that you were coming here ; 
but he said you were bound for Paris in the first instance.” 

“ I went to Paris ; but one cannot get dresses made in a 
week, and I was devoured with impatience. I bought 
some ready-made abominations ‘—after all, what did it 
signify? Now tell me at once, and tell me quickly — is all 
well?” 

“ All is well,” replied Mark tranquilly. “ I am as free 
as it is possible to be ; for I have done what you wished 
me to do, and Miss Eligh has refused me in the most 
unambiguous terms.*’ 

Madame Souravieff drew a long Dreath. 

“If you knew how frightened I have been!” she 
exclaimed. “ I had a presentiment that I .should find you 
engaged to that girl, and that you would tell me in your cold 
way that honor compelled you to fulfil your engagement. 
Thank God, I shall not now be driven to do things of 
which I should have been ashamed after they were done ! ” 
“ I think you must really care a little for me, Olga,” 
said Mark. 

“ Yes — a little,” she answered, with an unsteady laugh. 
“ It isn’t wrong or dangerous to tell you so any longer. I 
never told you so before ; I always held you rather at arm’s 
length, didn’t 1 ? But now — now ! ” 

AV’'ell, now there was only one thing to be done, and 
Mark did it manfully. What his thoughts and feelings 
may have been while the woman he had once loved was 
sobbing on his shoulder, it is needless to inquire too closely. 
Perhaps a little shame and a little regret were included 
amongst them. No doulU, too, he was glad that she 
believed him to be by nature undemonstrative. 

When she had calmed down a little and had seated her- 
self in one of the easy chairs which she had left in Mark’s 
scantily-furnished abode on the expiration of her tenancy, 
a passing feeling of curiosity prompted him to ask : — 

“ What would you have done, Olga, if you had found me 
formally betrothed to Miss Eligh ? ” 

“ I suppose,” answered Madame Souravieff, “ I should 
have gone to her and told her that you were not in love 
with her, but with me ; that I had urged you to marry her 
because you were poor a’^d she was rich, and that, being 

13 


386 


MIS A D VENTURE, 


now rich and independent myself; I no longer cared to 
resign you to her. It would have been humiliating for me, 
and I should have hated myself afterwards for having done 
it ; but I believe that is what I should have done. Did she 
give any reason for refusing you.^ ” 

“ The best of all reasons ; she had no sort of love for 
me, she said.” 

“ Yet it seemed to me — but no matter ! All that is over 
and done with ; we are going to be happy now and forget 
the miserable past. Shall we live in England, Mark ? ” 

“ That is for you to decide. For my own part, I should 
prefer almost any other country. I have no very pleasant 
associations with this place, and I am not sure that we 
should be precisely popular with our neighbors. There is 
a prevalent impression among them that you or I, or both of 
us, are answerable for the disappearance of that unfortunate 
young Bligh, and the true history of that disappearance, 
which will probably be made public before long, will scarce- 
ly tend to exonerate me in their eyes. By the way, I am at 
liberty to tell you the true history now.” 

“ You need not; I heard it all from Mr. Lowndes, and I 
forgive you for having misled me about it. Besides, what 
do I care, so long as you love me ? When I spoke of living 
in England I didn’t mean living here, which would suit 
neither of us. We are accustomed to the life of cities, and 
we can’t do without it, excpt for an interval of repose every 
now and then. In London we should have friends and 
interests, and if you could obtain a seat in Parliament, 

which ought not to be difficult ” 

‘‘ I might use my natural powers of eloquence on behalf 
of the cause of Panslavism.” 

“ Without joking, an English member of Parliament who 
understood something about Russia would be a valuable 
man to both countries. Apropos, I am taking leave of 
•certain friends of ours. That poor Boris made it a condi- 
tion of his will that I should withdraw from all secret 
'political societies, and fortunately I am able to comply. 
Still — England is a safe country.” 

Mark acquiesced. He seemed ready to acquiesce in 
anything and everything, and did not even wince when his 
companion said plainly that she saw no reason for deferring 
their marriage. He only observed : — 

“ I suppose there will be certain preliminary formalities 
to be gone through.” 


MIS AD VENTURE, 


3S7 


Oh, yes ; but they will not occupy more than a few 
weeks, I should think, and of course the ceremony will be 
performed in the quietest possible manner. And then we 
could go away to some quiet place and nobody would 
know anything about it until a decent interval had elapsed. 
We might even part for a time if you thought it better.” 

It is better to be as conventional as one can, perhaps. 
And that reminds me that your being here is just a shade 
unconventional. I don’t wish to seem inhospitable ; 
but ” 

“ Did you think I had come to stay with you ? ” asked 
Madame Souravieff, laughing. My dear Mark, I am not 
quite so devoid of all sense of propriety as that. I am 
only paying a friendly call, and presently I shall return*to 
the Seven Stars, where I have engaged rooms.” 

“ The Seven Stars ! ” exclaimed Mark. “ But you 
cannot possibly stay there ; it is nothing but a village 
public-house ! ” 

“ I can’t help it if Abbotsport provides such poor 
accommodation for travelers. I had to find some sort of 
a roof to shelter me, and I daresay they will be able to give 
me some eggs and bacon to eat, which is all that I 
want.” 

“ Yes ; but I wasn’t thinking of the discomfort. By this 
time it is probably known all over the place that you are 
here, and I leave you to imagine what inferences will be 
drawn from your presence.” 

“ Really I don’t very much care what Abbotsport thinks 
or says of me. However, you will be relieved to hear that 
I have taken all due precautions. I announced, imme- 
diately after my arrival, that I had come down to see about 
the furniture which I left here, and I am now supposed to 
be taking an inventory of it. Taking an inventory is a 
tedious process, isn’t it? One might perhaps prolong the 
operation over three days without exciting astonishment.” 

‘‘ I don’t think you could spend three days in a wayside 
tavern,” answered Mark. “ Besides, there is no occasion 
for it. The best plan would be for you to go up to London 
to-morrow, and on the following day I could join you. I 
shall have finished all that I have to do here by that time.” 

‘‘ WYll, perhaps you are right. The Seven Stars is 
neither as clean nor as quiet as it might be, and I am not 
particularly anxious to meet Miss Bligh or Mr. Lowndes 


3S8 


MIS A D VENTURE, 


or any of these people, Mark. I want you to tell me some- 
thing — only I suppose you won’t.” 

‘‘ What is it ? ” inquired Mark. 

‘‘ Are you sure that you are not a little disappointed at 
losing that girl ? ” 

“ Do I look like a disappointed man ? ” 

‘‘You don’t look like anything — you never do. But I 
can’t forget that she is young and pretty, while I am ” 

“ You are yourself, my dear Olga. Isn’t that enough ? ” 

“ It is, if you think so.” 

“ Apparently I think so. We shall never be any 
younger, you and I ; we have passed the age of passionate 
love, or at all events we ought to have passed it ; our 
ideas of happiness are not what they used to be. You see 
that when you think of the future, you dream of politics 
and society and ambition, you don’t dream of a cottage in 
a sequestered valley. Still there is no reason why two 
people of our time of life should not be happy together in 
their own way.” 

“ How cold you are ! ” exclaimed Madame Souravieff. 

“I was hot enough in the old days, wasn’t I? It was 
you who used to chill me then.” 

“ I was obliged to be chilling sometimes. But I loved 
you then and I love you now.” 

Mark sighed and looked at her for a moment with a 
certain air of sadness and contrition. Then he abruptly 
lowered his eyes. 

“Yet if I were to die to-morrow you would not weep for 
me very long,” he remarked. 

For an instant Madame Souravieff seemed inclined to 
quarrel with him ; but she thought better of it and only 
laughed. 

“ I should weep for you longer than you deserved,” she 
returned ; “ longer than you would weep for me, I suspect. 
However, I hope you will survive until the day after to- 
morrow, when you will find me and your dinner waiting at 
the Hotel Metropole. As nobody will know or care any- 
thing about us there, we may take the liberty of dining 
together, I suppose,” 

After Madame Souravieff had left him, Mark gave a 
great sigh, which it was as well that she could not hear, 
because it was only too evidently one of relief • He then 
returned to his papers and spent the remainder of the 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


389 


afternoon and evening in his study, only leaving it for half 
an hour at dinner time. The next morning he told Louis 
there was nothing more to be done except to pack up. 

I am going down to the village to pay a few bills,” he 
added ; “ if I am not in by two o’cloek you will know that 
I don’t want any luncheon. See that Madame Souravieffs 
furniture is separated from the rest, so that it may be sent 
up to London when it is wanted.” 

He gave a few more orders and then, leaving the house, 
sauntered for the last time down the hill towards Abbots- 
port. It was a sunny morning, but the grass was still 
drenched with the heavy autumn dew, and a haze hung 
upon the surface of the calm sea. High overhead the pale- 
blue sky was streaked with mare’s-tails for the admonition 
of the weather-wise, while every point and headland along 
the broken coast-line stood out with curious distinctness. 
But Mark, who did not raise his eyes from the ground as 
he walked, took no note of sea, sky or shore, nor did he 
care whether a change of weather was brewing or not. 
When he reached the village he quickened his pace and 
was soon down upon the beach, where he had so often 
chanced to meet Cicely. He did not meet her now — 
indeed he would not have been there if there had been any 
risk of meeting her at that hour of the day — but presently 
he encountered a seafaring man, who touched his hat and 
whom he scrutinzied keenly for a moment before saying : — 

“ Well, Coppard ! ” 

‘‘ Well, sir,” returned Coppard in somewhat aggrieved 
accents. 

“ I imagine, from the look of your face, that you have 
seen Mr. Lowndes.” 

“ Seen him yesterday afternoon,” answered Coppard 
sullenly. “Now I don’t bear no grudge agin’ parsons for 
preachin’; ’tis their trade to preach and they must do the 
best they can at it once a week, same as butchers and 
bakers and chimney-sweepers must on the other days. 
But I don’t see no need for sermons out o’ church, nor yet 
I don’t care to be called a liar, whether by parson or lay- 
man.” • 

“ Has Mr. Lowndes been calling you a liar?” inquired 
Mark, smiling. 

‘‘Well — there ! I don’t know what he didn’t call me. 

‘ Dear me, sir ! ’ I says at last, ‘ to hear the way you go 


390 


MISAD VENTURE. 


on, anybody’d think as I’d bin paid to keep back what 1 
know, 'or else paid for tellin’ of it. Whereas,’ I says, ‘ ’tis 
no such thing. Little enough did I ever see of that pore 
young gentlemaii’s money, and little enough o’ Mr. Chet- 
wode’s either if you come to that.’ ” 

You shall see a sovereign of Mr. Chetwode’s money 
now,” said Mark, producing that coin. “ I really couldn’t 
offer you payment before, it wouldn’t have been prudent. 
But now everything is to be made known, it seems ; added 
to which I am upon the point of leaving the place ; so I 
can do as I please. Did Mr. Lowndes give you any 
instructions as to what you were to reveal ? ” 

“ I don’t know as I rightly understand you, sir.” 

“ Did he tell you that you were to say you saw Mr. 
Bligh push his cousin over the cliff?” 

“ He did not, sir. That’s just what he went so far as 
to call a lie.” 

“ It was rude of him to use such words, but as to the 
fact he was right ; because you didn’t see that, you know. 
What you did see, according to your own account, was 
that one of the men rolled over the cliff and that the other 
was within an inch of following him. The truth, I believe, 
is that Morton Bligh tried to murder his cousin and very 
nearly succeeded, and that his death was an accident.” 

“ That’s what the rector says, sir,” observed Coppard. 
Well, you are not in a position to contradict him, I 
should say. I think he and Miss Bligh are making a 
mistake in saying anything about the matter ; but they 
must do what they consider best. Only, as you have 
always professed to be attached to Miss Bligh, I hope 
you won’t add to the distress which all this is certain to 
cause her by pretending to know more than you actually 
do know.” 

Coppard asseverated, truly enough, that from first to 
last his wish had been to avoid distressing Miss Cicely, 
and Mark replied : — 

“ Well, I believe you. Of course you can understand 
that the only thing for you to do now is to back up her 
account of the affair. Now, Coppard, do you think you 
could find me a boat ? I have a fancy for pulling out into 
the bay this fine morning.” 

“ I’ll take ’ee out, sir,” answered Coppard. Want any 
lines and bait ? ” 


MIS AD VENTURE. 


391 


‘‘ No, thank you ; and I shan’t want you either. I am 
going out by myself.” 

‘‘ As you please, sir ; but don’t you get too far from 
shore. ’Tis coming on to blow afore long, you may depend, 
and if you was to have the wind and tide agin’ you, I don't 
know but what you might find the job a bit more’n you 
could manage.” 

“ Oh, I’ll take care of myself,” answered Mark, and 
soon afterwards he was seated in the little open boat 
which Coppard had as usual borrowed from a neighbor. 

He pulled, with long, steady strokes, straight out to sea, 
while Coppard, who had stood watching him for a minute 
or two, went up to the Seven Stars to get change for the 
sovereign and drink a glass or so of beer for the good of 
the house. 

How many glasses of beer Coppard had drunk before 
the gale which raged for the next twenty-four hours had 
begun to announce itselfwith gusts from the north-eastward 
it is needless to inquire. He was at all events quite sober 
and a good deal alarmed at three o’clock in the afternoon, 
when the sea was covered with white-crested waves and 
no trace of Mr. Chelwode or the borrowed boat could be 
discovered. Whatever may have been Coppard’s failings, 
want of pluck was not one of them. He persuaded two 
of his mates to join him on board a lugger, and bore away 
down channel in search of the missing man, who, as he 
very well knew, must either have got ashore somewhere 
or be in imminent peril by that time. They had a rough 
experience of it, running before the wind, and a still 
rougher one when they had to beat back against it after 
finding the boat, which was floating bottom upwards some 
ten miles away to the south-westward ; but of Mark Chet- 
wode nothing was ever seen again. The sea does not give 
up its dead, and dead men tell no tales. There was 
nothing in the circumstances to justify a suspicion of 
suicide : yet more than one person was secretly convinced 
that when Mark puslied off from shore that morning he 
had no intention of returning. Be that as it may, one 
may safely take it for granted that the loss of his life was 
less bitter to him than the loss of all that he had cared to 
live for. Ke was a man who had never been much liked 
and had probably been only once loved — which in itself 
was tantamount to saying that he had been singularly un- 


392 


MISADVENTURE, 


lucky. For his good qualities were really in excess of his 
bad ones, and if the latter had seemed to hold more sway 
over his conduct than the former, that also, perhaps, had 
been rather the result of bad luck than of deliberate choice. 
As he himself had foreseen would be the case, he was very 
soon forgotten. 


CHAPTER LIL 

CONCLUSION. 

One afternoon, some weeks after the events chronicled in 
the last chapter. Cicely Bligh went out for a ride all by 
herself. It seemed probable that whether she rode or 
drove or walked in f^uture, she would be all by herself; 
and that, no doubt, was one reason why she was in very 
low spirits. Solitude, which is sad for everybody, is 
doubly sad for the young. Cicely, looking fqrward into 
the future, saw that there would henceforth be no compa- 
nionship for her save that of Miss Skipwith, and although 
she was sure of having plenty of duties to fill up her time, 
she was equally sure that there would be very few pleasures 
to relieve the monotony of managing a large estate. If 
you are happy, it is an immense blessing to be also rich ; 
but if you are unhappy, wealth is but a poor compensation 
to fall back upon, and Cicely thought she had good reasons 
for being unhappy. One short year had robbed her of so 
much ! She had lost her father ; she had lost her cousin, 
who had at least been her true lover ; finally she had lost 
one whom she would fain have believed to be her friend. 
Nothing remained to her except material comfort, and as 
she had enjoyed that all her life long, she naturally set 
little store by it. However, she thought a gallop would 
do her good, and when she had reached the breezy downs 
and had given her horse his head she certainly did feel all 
the better for the fresh air and exercise. Only, as she 
was returning homewards in the dusk of evening, her heart 
began to sink once more. She knew what was before her 
— dinner with Aunt Susan, a little playing of the piano 
while Aunt Susan nodded in her chair ; then bed, but not 
necessarily sleep. And it would be the same to-morrow 


Jl/ISAD VENTURE, 


393 


night and the next night and for an endless vista of 
coming nights. One must be forty at the very least to 
contemplate such .an outlook without shuddering. 

Now, while Cicely was still some little distance from 
her own door, she descried in front of her the figure of a 
certain young man whom she recognized and, touching 
her horse with her heel, she cantered across the grass until 
she overtook him, not ill-pleased to lay aside her sombre 
meditations for a time. 

Bobby Dare turned round when she drew rein beside 
him, and took off his hat. 

‘ I was going to pay my respects to you,” said he. “ Are 
you at home ? ” 

“ I shall be presently,” answered Cicely. “ As I have 
met you, we may as well walk on together.” 

She beckoned to her groom and, telling him to trot on 
to the stables, jumped lightly to the ground, disregarding 
Bobby’s proffered assistance. 

“ It seems ages since I saw you last,” she went on in a very 
friendly tone — for indeed Bobby had spent the preceding 
fortnight in London. ‘‘ How is your arm now ? You have 
discarded the sling, I see.” 

“ Oh, yes,” he answered cheerfully ; I’ve discarded 
the sling, and I’m pronounced to be fit for service. I hope 
to be afloat again before long.” 

“You don’t mean to leave the Navy, then } ” asked 
Cicely, and there seemed to be a slight suspicion of disap- 
pointment in her voice. 

“ Not for worlds ! Why should I ? ” 

“ Well, I thought that, as you are rich now, or at least 
comparatively rich — and by the way, I have never had an 
opportunity of telling you how glad I was to hear that 
poor Archie had left his money to you. He could not 
have left it to a trp^r friend.” 

“ Thank you for saying so j but I’m afraid I don’t 
deserve to have such things said of me. The truth is 
that if I befriended him it wasn’t so much for his sake as 
for yours.” 

“ You did your best to befriend us both, and I suppose 
you were right in almost everything that you said, and I 
ought to eat a great dish of humble pie. Only I can’t even 
now feel convinced that Mr. Chetwode was quite as bad 
as you thought him. And — and he is dead, you see ! ” 


394 


MISADVENTURE. 


Bobby nodded. He had not altered his opinion of 
Mark ; but there was no longer any occasion for him to 
give expression to it. After a short interval of silence, he 
reverted to the original topic of discussion. 

“ Of course I could afford to live without any profession 
now,” he said, “and my people rather want me to retire, 
but it seems to me that I should be a very great fool if I 
did. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life loafing about 
down here with nothing to occupy me." 

“ I suppose you couldn’t,” agreed Cicely. “ Selfishly 
speaking, I am sorry that you are going away, because I 
shall miss you dreadfully ; but for your own sake I am 
glad.” 

“ Will you really miss me ? ” asked Bobby ; “ or do you 
only say that out of kindness ? ” 

“ I say it because it is true. I haven’t so many friends 
left here that I can afford to lose one.” 

“ Well,” observed Boby, “ it is something to know that 
you look upon me as a friend.” 

Did I ever look upon you as anything else ? ” 

“ At one time I thought you did. I seemed to be rather 
meddlesome, and perhaps I was ; but I couldn’t help it.” 

“ Oh, you were right. Haven’t I just confessed as 
much ? ” 

“ My intentions were good, at all events. I said to my 
self; ‘ As there is no hope for you, you might as well give 
another honest fellow a chance, if you can.’ ” He added, 
after a momentary pause, “ I suppose there is no hope ? ” 

“ I don’t quite know what you mean,” answered Cicely 
with pardonable mendacity. 

“ I mean, of course, that I love you, and that I always 
shall. Jane says I ought to ask you again, but I know it’s 
quite useless.” 

“ I thought you had got over that long ago,” said Cicely 
without looking at him. 

“Oh, no, I haven’t got over it and I don’t expect to get 
over it. I’m not sure that I even wish to get over it. But 
I have" never deceived myself about the matter. You may 
not have cared for anyone else : but you have certainly 
never cared for me. 

Cicely raised her eyes for a moment and glanced at the 
handsome young face beside her. All of a sudden she 
seemed to know that , she had always loved him. It was 


MISADVENTURE. 


395 


hardly a discovery ; it was only an admission, and if she 
had not made the admission to herself before that was only 
because she had imagined that his boyish flame had died 
down. Nevertheless, she felt that it would be impossible 
for her to accept him. Within the last few months she 
had been engaged to one man and had been upon the 
point — or at any rate everybody thought so — of engaging 
herself to another ; could she, now that her two lovers were 
dead, seem to console herself with the third one as z, pis- 
aller 1 No! that would be too humiliating, and would 
look too heartless. So she replied : — 

“ I am very grateful to you, and I only wish I were 
more worthy of your love ; but — but you will find some- 
body more worthy in time. As for me, I shall never 
marry.” 

“You mean that you will never marry me,'’ observed 
Bobby smiling, Well — I knew that.” 

They walked on in silence for some little distance ; but 
when they neared the house Bobby resumed 
. “ I don’t think I’ll go in with you. One can’t talk 
when one knows that one will have to say good-bye In a 
few minutes. I’ll say good-bye now, please.” 

“ Are you going “away immediately, then ? ” asked 
Cicely. 

“ Yes, I hope so. There’s nothing to keep me here 
now, and though I didn’t in the least expect any other 
answer than the answer that you have given me, still — it 
A, in a sort of way, a disappointment. Do what one will, 
one can’t quite help hoping against hope.” 

Cicely gave him her hand. 

“ Well,” she said, “ good-bye, if it must be good-bye.” 
She added, half involuntarily, “''Don’t forget me.” 

Now it is evident that ordinary kindness of feeling 
should have made her wish that he might forget her ; and 
even if she did not wish it, it would have been only in 
accordance wflth immemorial custom to say that she did. 
Possibly some dim perception of this may have crossed 
his mind, for he colored up suddenly and looked her 
straight in the face, which he had not done before. 

“ I don’t know,” Cicely said to him about ten minutes 
afterwards, “ how you can have seen anything in my face 
that you might not have seen long ago, if you hadn’t been 
so desperately stupid. But perhaps you weren’t really as 


39<5 


MISADVENTURE, 


stupid as you pretended to be. I believe you knew all 
about it from the first — though I assure you I didn’t.” 

“ The first ? ” repeated Bobby wonderingly. “ What do 
you call the first ? Not that miserable night of the dance, 
when you refused me in such decisive terms? ” 

“ Yes, that same wretched night. I was dreadfully 
unhappy after it, and though I didn’t know why I was 
unhappy, you might have known. Are you sure you 
didn’t ? ” 

“ I am quite suse,” answered Bobby ; “and until a few 
minutes ago I Was quite sure that you cared about as much 
for me as you do for — for old Lowndes. When I wake up 
to-morrow morning I shall certainly think all this is a 
dream.” 

“ You will very soon be convinced that it is an awful 
reality,” sighed Cicely. “ People won’t exactly condole 
with you, because I am so rich ; but I’m afraid they will 
congratulate you in a rather ironical manner, and I know 
just what they will say about me.” 

However, Cicely did her neighbors an injustice ; for 
nobody said anything disagreeable about her when it was 
announced that she was engaged to Bobby Dare, nor did 
anyone grudge him his good fortune.* The general opinion 
was that she might have done a great deal worse ; and in 
this instance the general opinion was probably correct — 
which is not always the case. For Cicely is ruled by her 
affections, and as she adores her husband, who is a very 
sensible man, there is good reason to hope that the duties 
of which he has declined to relieve her will be discharged 
more satisfactorily than they would have been had she 
carried out her intention of remaining single. 

Nothing more has been seen or heard of Madame 
Souravieff in Abbotsport, but the outer world sees a good 
deal of her. For some time after Mark Chetwode’s death 
she lived in the strictest seclusion, and when she some- 
what abruptly emerged from it all traces of youth had left 
her. Her hair is grey, her face is lined, and at times she 
looks very sad ; but more often she is cheerful and 
talkative and busied with political affairs. For in this 
world everything comes to an end — sorrow and joy and 
love and life itself. Stories, too, come to an end at last, 
and patient readers are released. 


THE END 


WHAT AILS YOU? 


Do you feel dull, languid, low-spirited, 
lifeless, and indescribably miserable, both 
physically and mentally; experience a 
sense of fullness or bloating after eat- 
ing, or of “goneness,” or emptiness of 
stomach in the morning, tongue coated, 
‘aitter or bad taste in mouth, irregular 
€»ppetite, dizziness, frequent headaches, 
blurred eyesight, “floating specks” be- 
fore the eyes, nervous prostration or 
exhaustion, irritability of temper, hot 
flushes, alternating with chilly sensa- 
tions, sharp, biting, transient pains here 
and there, cold feet, drowsiness after 
meals, wakefulness, or disturbed and 
unreireshing sleep, constant, indescrib- 
able feeling of dread, or of impending 
calamity ? 

If you have all, or any considerable 
number of these symptoms, you are 
suffering from that most common of 
American maladies— Bilious Dyspepsia, 
or Torpid Liver, associated with Dys- 
pepsia, or Indigestion. The more com- 
plicated your disease has become, the 
greater the number and divereity of 
symptoms. No matter what stage it has 
reached. Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medi- 
cal Discovery will subdue it, if taken 
according to directions for a reasonable 
length of ume. If not cured, complica- 
tions multiply and Consumption of the 
Lungs, Skin Diseases, Heart Disease, 
Rheumatism, Kidney Disease, or other 

r ve maladies are quite liable to set 
and, sooner or later, induce a fatal 
termination. 

Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical 
Discovery acts powerfully upon the 
Liver, and through that great blood- 
purifying organ, cleanses the system of 
all blood-taints and impurities, from 
whatever cause arising. It is equally 
efficacious in acting upon the Kidneys, 
iind other excretory organs, cleansing, 
strengthening, and healing their dis- 
eases. As an appetizing, restorative 
tonic, it promotes digestion and nutri- 
tion, thereby building up both flesh and 
strength. In malarial districts, this 
wonderful medicine hiis gained great 
celebrity in curing Fever and Ague, 
Chills and Fever, Dumb Ague, and kin- 
dred diseases. 

Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical 
Discovery 

CURES ALL HUMORS, 

from a common Blotch, or Eruption, 
to the worst Scrofula. Salt-rheum, 


“Fever-sores,” Scaly or Rough Skin 
in short, all diseases caused by ba( 
blood are conquered by this powerful 
purifying, and invigorating medicine. 
Great Eating Ulcers rapidly heal under 
its benign influence. Especially has it 
manifested its potency in curing Tet- 
ter, Eczema, Erysipelas, Boils, Carbun- 
cles, Sore Eyes, Scrofulous Sores and 
Swellings, Hip-joint Disease, “White 
Swellings,” Goitre, or Thick Neck, and 
Enlarged Glands. Send ien cents in 
stamps for a large Treatise, with col- 
ored plates, on Skin Diseases, or the 
same amount lor a Treatise on Scrofu- 
lous Affections. 

“ FOR THE BLOOD IS THE LIFE.” 

Thoroughly cleanse it by using Dr. 
Pierce’s Golden Medical Discov- 
ery, and good digestion, a fair skin, 
buoyant spirits, vital strength and bod- 
ily health will be established. 

CONSUMPTION, 

which is Scrofula of tlie liiiiigs, is 

arrested and cui-ed by this remedy, if 
taken in the earlier stages of the dis- 
ease. From its marvelous power over 
this terribly fatal disease, when first 
offering this now world-famed remedy 
to the public. Dr. Pierce thought seri- 
ously of calling it his “Consumption 
Cure,” but abandoned that name as 
too restrictive for a medicine which, 
from its wonderful combination of 
tonic, or strengthening, alterative or 
blood - cleansing, anti - bilious, pectoral, 
and nutritive properties, is unequaled, 
not only as a remedy for Consumption, 
but for all Chronic Diseases of the 

Liver, Blood, I Lungs. 

For Weak Lungs, Spitting of Blood, 
Shortness of Breath, Chronic Nasal 
Catarrh, Bronchitis, Asthma, Severe 
Coughs, and kindred affectiCI!?; it is 
an efficient remedy. Sold by Druggists, 
at Sl-00, or Six Bottles for $5.00. 

Send ten cents in stamps for Dr, 
Pierce’s book on Consumption. 

Address, 

World’s Dispensary Medical Association, 
663 Main Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 



REWARD 


is offered b> the manufacturers of 
Dr. Sage’s Catarrh Remedy, 
for a case of Chronic Catarrh which 


ithey cannot cure. Remedy sold by druggists. 50 cents. 



COLGATE'S 



AND 


: rvTxft-a'yrsrfs is/'is..i v,i lxi 


SOAPS. 





A . 


• * 

I ^ <1^ ♦ * 


A 





'o,*- 0 ^ ^ A 

(y c ® '* ® ^ t • 

.'i '^•i* •-^►'^ -‘#if^. 



4 o 

V ^ - 

• O ^ 

> *o.o’ O 

'^y> V f ’ * ‘’-- C\ 

^ 'f' 

VV 


* 

® “ ® 


- 5 .'^ 

, 0 ^ A 



V ^0 .y o 


> 

u ’ ' ' ’^' 'O ' " " Vt’ ^ *•/'•• aO 

^ 4.0^ 'iJ^'-*- \/ f ’ • ®-> .0^ 


A^ O 




o 

o O 

A " 


• A '^rv 

♦ «? '^ • 

-» ^ '.» 





* « 


. . . 0 '^ . ' 

-V ^ 

s' A 'o • 

Jiy L » • -c^ 

'>^ -Cr r 

-^c 



' ■^'#'^ ", 
O. ' 



o ^ 




'*•<>- o. -\0' \ * 


* A'^^'^ ° 


■, %/ :« 



•* <>» A 


b y 


f >-> ^ 

V O " G ^ 

^ U 0 _ ^ ^ - w 



,<>''«♦ o 

^ O ^ ^ 

K 

' "^^u. ", 

," 0-5 - 

A •;:^'* . 

• ^ ♦- 

.* ^ 

■<V 'o, ** ,0^ ^ 


K (^> ♦ 

" 




" -^r ,<* ' 


0' ."V 


° "J''3' • 

« I 



O • 


££K“®««* 0 ^ : 


^ > 



U.w.* - ^ 

O, i^^GlsTZNE °,, * • ' ’ • A° . . . , V * " ” ° \ %'^ . . 

f^- V A '•vote;' ■»> i- 

32084 /}y,%^ ^ V * . ^- A , ,. 









